Vantage Point
by AFanWhoFeelsThings
Summary: AU. Rick Grimes has left everything he knows behind in the wake of his family's tragic death. New to the neighborhood, his eyes land on Michonne, his next door neighbor with a mysterious past. And they never leave her. As he dives deeply into a sinister, dangerous case, Rick falls deeply, intensely in love with the woman he's watched from his window since he arrived.
1. the woman in the window

_I know, I don't know you_

 _but I want you_

 _so bad_

 _everyone has a secret_

 _but can they keep it?_

 _oh no, they can't_

-Maroon 5, 'Secret'

* * *

The energy in Atlanta, Georgia was starting to turn electric.

The air was thicker, the skies were getting darker sooner, the trees were starting to come alive and sing at night. The lights of the city seemed somehow more vibrant and menacing. People seemed more unpredictable. The daytime was for sleeping and the nighttime buzzed with life. Loneliness felt lonelier and the thirst for pleasure (if only for temporary escape from the discomfort of the heat) felt on the verge of becoming downright unhinged.

That's how you knew. It was summertime in Atlanta.

Rick Grimes had spent last year getting used to the feeling when he first arrived - the electric charge that the burgeoning summer heat generated in a man's bones. It made a man restless. It turned him feral, deep down. In some cases, that feeling caused Rick to make decisions he might later regret, but that he was inexplicably drawn to. Like this case; the one he'd just accepted.

The woman who hired him, a civil rights attorney, Andrea Jones, came off a little paranoid and obsessed, but the money she was offering was too good to refuse. Also, the case was riveting from the start. He knew as soon as she started telling the story that he would take it. Though he couldn't quite name specifically why.

She paid him half of the fifty thousand she promised him upfront, and they had a deal.

It was little after ten on a Thursday night. Rick pulled his aging black Ford Bronco into the driveway of his modest, modern single-family home.

He had made enough doing this soulless gig as a private investigator to buy a place in a nice neighborhood, the still-developing Atlanta suburb of Reece Park. He didn't have a lot of furniture or many belongings still, but that suited him just fine. Rick wasn't a guy who needed to be in a hurry for much. At least, not these days. He focused on his job, and knew by doing that, he would get his shit together for good eventually. Step by laborious step.

It didn't look as if he'd be short of clients any time soon, anyway. Summertime in Atlanta was good for business, he discovered. The electric charge in the air brought out the good and the bad with equal fervor.

As soon as he pulled into his driveway, he noticed that there was a party going on at the identical two-story loft home next door. Rick immediately felt a headache coming on. It wasn't just the faint noise of music and talking that had his palms sweaty and his head beginning to throb, though.

There was a feeling in his gut, pulling him toward this new case. It was identical to the feeling pulling him toward the case that drove him off the force. The case he never solved. The one he'd been working on when his wife and son were brutally murdered.

The serial killer who raped and killed at least a dozen women, the last four in King's County. Rick had been _so_ consumed with it. So obsessed with solving it and avenging those poor women - until his wife Lori and his teenaged son Carl were murdered for sixty bucks and a few credit cards, turning his entire world upside down.

Rick crushed his eyes shut as he cut the engine on the truck, willing his encroaching headache away.

This was always how it started. First the headache. Then the need to self-medicate. Then...wherever the night took him. Sometimes that was down a spiraling tunnel of anguish and unbearable sorrow. Sometimes he lost his mind for a bit. There had been times, when things were at their worst, when he would wake up not knowing where he was or how he got there. Back then, his whole town had started looking at him differently - he was the crazy, troubled Sheriff's Deputy who lost his family. Unhinged. Hopeless. Pretty much a pariah.

Rick forced himself to stop thinking, his head beginning to feel the intense pressure of an oncoming episode. He climbed stiffly out of the Bronco, taking the case files Andrea had given him out of the passenger seat. He had been prepared to stay up for a few hours looking over this stuff, but right now he had a headache and his thoughts were starting to turn dark. Thinking of Lori and Carl brought the iron grip of pain and grief back, and he couldn't have that.

The music and talking persisted, but it wasn't unbearable, he found, now that he was outside the car. Just loud enough to know something was going on, but not blaring or chaotic. It sounded like there was a pretty standard, "suburban adult party" going on in there. Husbands and wives and people with kids trying to recreate some semblance of carefree fun. Generic pop and R&B music, with a little bit of classic rock thrown in for kicks. It was kind of...cute. He remembered a time when he had been one of those parents, feeling relieved and even a little proud to have made it to a social function with no curfew. But that was a long time ago. A different Rick Grimes.

Rick glanced over at his neighbor's house, his eyes doing a quick sweep to discern her location, but she wasn't anywhere he could see her.

Michonne.

He didn't know her last name. They'd only actually spoken twice since he moved in three months ago. But he knew she had a cat, worked as a nurse, took the bus into the city every morning even though she had a car, was single as far he could tell, and didn't get out much.

He knew all this because he'd been unable to stop himself from watching her. She was, in a word, _captivating_. The moment he saw her that first day he moved in - squinting at him curiously, her hand shielding her eyes from the blaring Atlanta sun - he was instantly attracted to her. She'd been picking up her mail as he was transferring his modest collection of belongings from his small U-Haul truck into the house. There were many things that took his breath away about her, but the first was how her skin glowed in the sun that day. He had been unable to get her out of his mind ever since.

Now the former sheriff's deputy sauntered up his front walkway, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he juggled the files. He made it to the door and balanced the files in one arm while he unlocked it with his free hand.

Rick took one more glance up at what he could see of Michonne's house over his fence and hedges. He saw lights on and silhouettes moving around upstairs, but no obvious signs of her. He didn't know what he expected to do if he caught sight of her, anyway. Stand there holding his files, watching her in full view of the rest of the neighborhood?

Rick got himself inside, closing and locking the door.

He walked through the house, knowing his way by memory, not bothering to turn on any of the lights. Preferring the darkness, Rick kept his blinds closed during the day and open at night.

Sometimes he saw things in the shadows, but that was usually curable with a good few rounds of whiskey or vodka. Speaking of which. Rick dumped the files on his coffee table and headed to his kitchen. The glare of the refrigerator light only contributed to the steadily intensifying pounding in his head, but he ignored it as he reached inside, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and slammed the door shut.

Rick felt the memories threatening to invade his brain, creeping into his bloodstream, forcing their way into his consciousness like bile rising inside his throat. He sloshed a huge helping of vodka into a glass, added a drop or two of sparkling soda and some ice, and drank it down like lemonade.

He'd have to be careful. If he went too far, he'd end up pushing himself further into the dark place, and he'd go a little mad again. It was always a risk, but going to a shrink wasn't an option. With herculean effort, Rick had managed to keep a firm handle on it for over a year, now.

Keeping his house dark, his lifestyle simple, and his days and nights focused on work usually kept the demons at bay.

Tonight, however, even as he tried to drown out the memories with the ice cold, harsh vodka soda, he knew he was going to listen to the voicemail again. Just this once. He had to.

Rick took the bottle along with his glass out of the kitchen, over to his couch. He sat down and put his booze on the table in whatever clear space he could find among the Jones case files already crowding the surface. As if operating on autopilot, the disgraced cop and hardened widower pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through all of his saved voicemail messages until he came upon the last one his late wife Lori ever left him. The one he'd listened to so many times over the last two years, he'd lost count. Her voice on that message had been full of urgency - there was something about it that he could never shake. He never found out what she wanted to tell him. He had guessed at everything under the sun, but it would always remain a thorny, painful mystery.

Rick pressed play and held his phone up to his ear, a single tear finding its way to the surface of his right eye before falling to freedom down his stubbled cheek. He listened. The first thing he heard - the thing that always killed him the most - was that deep, impatient sigh she let out when it went to voicemail. He'd been unavailable, yet again, because he was working that case.

" _Hey, Rick. Look, I know you're working, but I've got somethin' to tell you. And I need us to talk in person, okay? As soon as possible. Can you do that for me? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really, really important. It-it's gonna sound crazy but_ _ **you have to listen to me**_ _. I'm gonna drop Carl off and come up there._ _ **Please**_ _, Rick."_

Then Carl's voice, interrupting. " _Mom! The light's changed."_

Some honking and then Lori cursing. And finally the dial tone. Rick laughed sadly, more tears falling down his cheeks like shadows. He hated it when Lori used her cell phone while she was driving. Where Rick took to lecturing her about it, Carl was always trying to act as an extra pair of eyes and ears. He was a good, sweet kid. Rick felt like the floor would open up and swallow him whole if he let another thought enter his head of his beautiful, dead son.

He felt the weight of his grief threatening to crush him then, and he forced himself to snap out of it. He put his cell phone down, wiped his face with his hands, and reached for his vodka again.

He poured himself another helping and took a swallow, shuddering as the harsh liquid did its job. His headache would ease off, soon. Then the dark thoughts. As long as he didn't go overboard.

Feeling microscopically better for that last ice-cold swig, he opened the first file sitting on top of the pile of information about the girl, Amy Jones. She was his client Andrea's younger sister. She had just turned twenty before she was kidnapped. She had disappeared over a year ago, right around the time Rick was being gently thrown out of the Sheriff's department. The local police had very few leads and eventually the case went cold.

A senior yearbook picture of Amy greeted him on the first page of the file he opened. This was the one Andrea was showing him at the bar where they met.

Amy was pretty. Blonde. Looked sweet, relatively unassuming. Andrea said they'd been very close. She was a good student, a popular girl, worked hard, didn't bother anybody. The same story you hear from every family member whose daughter or sister is cruelly snatched from them with little to no hope of a safe return.

She'd been leaving her job at a local gas station when she was taken around two in the morning. Her car had been driven off the road, and she'd been shot, the forensic and ballistics reports said. No body was ever found, though. No weapon. No second car, either.

"My friend told me your thing is infiltrating sex trafficking rings," Andrea had insisted at the dive bar with the red bulbs in the ceiling. "Bringing girls _home_. The police aren't doing dick - as far as they're concerned the case is cold. But _I know my sister is alive_ , Mr. Grimes. And possibly suffering through unspeakable shit no young girl should have to experience. _Please_. Help me find her."

She didn't have any proof that Amy was alive. She had a whole lot of delusional hope. But something in her eyes, and something in his gut, drove him to take the case.

"If she's alive...I'll find her." Rick promised, leaving it at that. Andrea knew that was the best she was going to get.

Rick sat in his dark house, the lights of passing cars illuminating his walls every now and then, the sounds of the party next door floating in through the vents. He drank his vodka, studying the files, taking notes under the dim light of his one lamp, diving into every detail of her kidnapping.

Something about this case. _Something_ about it nagged at him. Tugged at him. But there was silence on the other end of that feeling. The _way_ she was taken. Something about it was not only chilling, but it was inconsistent with most of the known sex trafficking rings operating in this area. The implications of that eluded him at the moment, but he knew that they weren't good.

After a couple of hours, the sounds of the party had gotten louder, and Rick's eyes were starting to blur.

He stopped taking notes, closed the files, turned off the lamp, and poured himself more vodka - deciding to go upstairs and spend some time in front of his favorite window.

* * *

Rick splashed cold water on his face, then carried his glass and half-empty bottle into his bedroom.

He crossed the room in the dark, opened the blinds at his favorite window just enough to see without being seen, and stood there, watching.

He always resisted the urge to do this for as long as possible when he got home, because he knew it made him a creep. The guilt was an inescapable part of the experience. Sometimes he resisted doing it for days at a time, but he could never resist for longer than a couple. He mentally kicked himself over and over for not just finding the nerve to talk to her. Really try to get to know her. Try to be normal again. But the more he watched her, the more he started to feel that it was safer this way. Easier to get to know her _this_ way, rather than taking the risk of her discovering the exposed nerve that was his past. She was one of the sexiest, most intriguing women he had ever seen. The more he watched her, the deeper he fell. And the more he convinced himself that she wouldn't want anything to do with him. Not if she knew how dark his world could get. And _especially_ not if she ever knew he stood here at night, in the dark, watching.

From this vantage point, he could see into her kitchen downstairs, her upstairs bedroom, and her back yard. Rick didn't know her last name, but he was starting to convince himself that he knew _her_. And what he knew, he found just as captivating as her physical attributes. She was a normal, single mother. She did normal things. But the underlying sadness about her was really what drew him to her; the melancholy that seemed to cloak her day to night.

She had a cat; an orange and gold furball with a huge tail. She seemed to love it like family, and gave it a lot of affection, especially when she was alone. Her son was about ten or eleven as far as Rick could tell. Rick had only seen the kid once when he first moved in. He seemed to live part time with his father or some other family member.

Michonne loved to eat, and she usually did so standing up. She loved wine. He saw her walking around her house carrying a glass of red wine at least four times a week, sometimes more. She read a lot. She liked to do that in her backyard, usually with wine. She got really sad sometimes, staring off into space, sometimes even crying. It was during those times when Rick felt the strongest connection to her, even though it was one sided. She was also fun sometimes, though. She laughed a lot when she was talking on the phone. Her laughter was not timid. It looked rather boisterous, lighting up her face so beautifully that whenever he was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse, it made his heart pound in his chest. She exercised a lot. Cardio. Yoga. Usually in her bedroom. He could only stand to watch her doing that for a minute or two before he found himself becoming intensely aroused and had to close the blinds and step away.

He never watched her for longer than a few minutes. He never watched her undress.

He told himself he was just checking up on her. She didn't have anyone else, aside from one woman he saw stopping by every now and then. She was alone most of the time since he'd been watching, which led Rick to deduce that her son was gone for the summer. Even though it was the suburbs, Rick knew all too well that a woman alone in this world was a magnet for danger. Sometimes her signal was weaker than others, but her burden was never knowing when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Rick stood at his window, smoking a cigarette, sipping his vodka, peering over into Michonne's backyard in search of her.

There was some pounding eighties electronic song playing now. Something kinda intense. He could almost feel the vibration of the subwoofers they were using back there. She had string lights hanging from lantern poles positioned all around the yard, which was pretty well groomed (his was a mess). People were mingling and talking, laughing and dancing. Eating and joking around. The most people he'd ever seen there. She never entertained, as far as he could tell. But he'd only been there for three months. Maybe they were coworkers.

Finally, Rick spotted her, talking animatedly with some guy. He felt an instant pang of jealousy, but he decided to focus on solely on _her_. He tried to discern how she felt about the guy from way over here - if he was just a friend, or more. She looked stunning. She was dressed casually, in a short white sundress, her body a smooth valley of dark, glowing skin and toned curves.

Her dreadlocs were loose and falling in her eyes. He couldn't really see them in detail from his viewpoint yards away in his practically empty, dark house. But he had a feeling they were sparkling. She looked carefree in a way he hadn't seen since he moved in. It made heat develop in his chest, and it began a slow, steady spread downward.

Rick's breath grew shallow as he let the vodka dance around in his bloodstream, watching Michonne smile and laugh at the guy's jokes. He wished, with a searing longing, that _he_ was that guy. Or that he could take her attention away from that guy and keep it all to himself.

He took a drag of his cigarette and began to fall into fantasy, imagining what it could be like to be down there, in the warm, slightly crowded backyard on this early summer evening. Flirting with Michonne.

* * *

 _Instead of standing in his window, he is now standing in the middle of her backyard, watching her._

 _Michonne is right across from him, pouring herself a glass of water to cool off. Atlanta is sometimes sweltering at night. Tonight is no exception._

 _Her dress is low cut with spaghetti straps. She isn't wearing a bra. He can see perspiration making her skin look dewy all along her collarbone, trickling down to find a dark, warm home out of sight between her breasts. Her nipples are not hard, but he can still just make them out, pushing against the soft fabric._

 _Rick's cock begins to awaken in his jeans as he watches her drink the water - the rim of the glass pressed against her thick, soft-looking lips making him desperate to feel them against his own._

 _She finally spots him, her eyes locking onto his as she finishes the last few swallows of her water._

 _Rick feels as if his body is on fire under her gaze, and he knows he won't be able to stop himself from testing the waters as she makes her way toward him, that same curiosity in her expression as she had the first day he saw her. Her brow furrows, her eyes sparkling under the lights hanging from the lantern poles. Her body moves so exquisitely in the short white dress, he's mesmerized by it as she approaches him._

" _Hi...you're the guy from next door, right?" Her smooth, sexy voice floats toward him as he stands there holding his beer tightly to keep himself from leaning into her._

 _He feels so physically drawn to her that it's all he can to do respect her personal space - or keep from giving himself away with the slowly intensifying erection developing in his jeans._

" _Yeah. I'm Rick. Grimes." He manages to drawl, unable to keep his roving blue eyes from cataloging every detail of her up close. "Sorry. I crashed your party."_

 _Michonne runs a hand through her dreads, moving the wayward locs back so they aren't obscuring her gorgeous face. Rick feels slightly nervous under her scrutiny, but he knows he's giving her as well as he's getting, so he's in no position to complain. "It's okay, Rick. It's a party. I've been meaning to extend an invite for...something...since you moved in. New meat and all…"_

 _Her eyes are slightly mischievous as she steals his beer (well, technically hers since he crashed the beer cooler, too) and takes a swallow. The way she utters 'new meat' makes his dick twitch in his pants. He watches as the liquid goes down her elegant throat. Her lips are perched on the rim...just so. He fights against his body - he wants to move closer to her. He wants her away from these lights, these people's prying eyes. He wants her in the dark._

" _I'm Michonne. Again." She says as she hands him the beer back. "Welcome to Reece Park."_

 _He takes it and tips it in her direction as a thank you before taking a swallow himself. He feels warmth on the rim from where her lips were, just before the cold, frothy liquid invades his mouth and throat. He licks his own lips when he's done, for some way to expel the restless energy roiling through his body._

" _Do you like it? The neighborhood, I mean?" She asks casually, gesturing with her long, slender fingers. "It's still pretty new, but it's coming along."_

" _It's not bad." He offers, taking an obligatory lap around the party scene with his eyes before they land back on her, where he likes them. She is a vision. The white dress is simple, but it makes her figure call out to him. He takes a marginal step closer, pretending to make sure she can hear him over the music. "I like the people."_

 _Rick is decidedly pointed in his statement, eying her, letting her see a glimpse of the stormy lust behind his eyes. She blinks, her lips parting slightly. "Oh yeah?" She challenges, recovering from the affect of his voice. "Who've you met so far?"_

 _He can see that she can tell he's focused no one else here. So he decides to be honest; see where it gets him. He smiles with slight embarrassment and scratches his chin. "Well, actually, just you so far…"_

" _Ahhh, okay…" She returns his smile pleasantly, brushing her hand against his shoulder, causing yearning to shoot through him from the slight contact. "We have to introduce you to some folks here, then."_

" _Do we?" He counters, staring at her. Michonne pauses - the look in her eyes lets him know. She is picking up on what he's no longer trying to hide. He takes another step closer as she tries to formulate an appropriate response. He's close enough to smell her, now. He has no idea what she smells like in real life, outside this fantasy, but he imagines it's something elusive, but intoxicating. Something delicious. Like coconut or cinnamon. Maybe she tastes like it too. "I was kinda hopin' I could just get to know_ _ **you**_ _better, Michonne."_

 _Michonne looks up into his eyes fully for the first time since they started talking. She can tell. He can feel almost identical energy wafting from her body, crashing into his. The heat oppressing the air makes their proximity seem charged, almost like they're human magnets. He's pulling her into his orbit, and she isn't resisting._

" _What did you have in mind, Rick?" She simply utters quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the hypnotizing eighties bassline and enigmatic synths pulsing out across her backyard. The voices of the party guests shroud them as they stand there, staring at each other, sparks gathering in their mingling physical energy._

 _He heard her. He's been waiting for it from the moment he laid eyes on her._

 _Rick doesn't speak. He simply leans over and deposits his half-finished beer onto a table set up with snacks, turns back, and grabs her hand._

 _He leads her through the crowd of people - all of them thankfully oblivious to their departure - out of the gate in her fence, and around the side of her house. It's darker out here, and instantly cooler, though still a Georgia summer's version of "cool"._

 _He spots a gap in the bushes lining the house, just under her kitchen window, where (unbeknownst to her of course) he's watched her eat standing up a dozen times._

 _Rick pulls Michonne from behind him and pushes her roughly against the panelled exterior of her house._

 _Finally, he has her in the dark. Her chest is heaving silently in the heat - she's breathing heavily, her lips still parted, her eyes large and round and shining in the faint light that reaches them from the street and the backyard._

 _His heart pounding in his chest, his dick so hard by now that it's almost painful, Rick presses himself into her. Her curves mold to his body - she's soft, and plush, yet toned. Her breasts push into his hard chest, their heartbeats almost identically rapid. Exhaling long and hard, Rick angles his face up to hers as he sinks down in his stance to reach under her skirt and touch her delectable-looking skin._

 _She simply watches his face, waiting for him to do what he wants with intense anticipation. There is unabashed desire for him in her eyes. It emboldens him._

 _Their lips brush against each others' as he runs his hands up her smooth thighs and grabs hold of her. She gasps as he lifts her up easily, positioning himself between her legs, pushing his engorged erection into her pulsing heat. His hands slide further along until he's gripping her plump, pronounced ass in both strong hands. She's wearing a thong._

 _Rick closes the miniscule space between them finally, grinding himself into her as he kisses her against the wall of her house, in the dark. Michonne opens her mouth and lets him slip his tongue inside as he continues to grind into her. As he does, his right hand inches closer to her sex, his other still gripping her ass, caressing it as he gradually moves his kisses from her mouth to her neck._

 _She wraps her legs around him, pulling him even closer to her, and seconds later she's got her fingers laced into the thick hair at the nape of his neck._ _ **Rick's**_ _fingers find their way underneath the front of her thong, and he finally feels how wet she is. The sensation of her slick heat against his fingers sends desire shooting through him. He wastes no time massaging her clit while he thrusts two fingers inside her. She is very wet already, and very warm, and very tight._

" _Mmm...shit!" She gasps, gripping his hair as his kisses make their way toward her breasts, still hidden from him by the thin fabric of her dress._

 _Rick begins to fuck her slowly with his fingers, his tongue slithering underneath her top, finding one of her nipples, and circling it intensely to the rhythm of his thrusts. He sucks her nipple into her mouth and she thrusts her chest into his face, writhing around against him, barely able to stand the pleasure._

 _He works her with fingers and tongue for a short while, getting her wetter, reveling in the sound of her gasping and quiet moaning. Her voice gets lost in the music once it makes it past his ears, but it's enough to drive him crazy with lust. He's ravenous._

 _When he feels her tug on his hair impatiently, going mad with the need to have him inside her, he pulls his soaked fingers from her heated sex and lifts his head. They stare into each other's eyes as he prepares her silently for what's coming next. Michonne bites her lip, her grip around his waist tightening as she reaches down and begins to hastily unbuckle his belt._

 _By the time she gets it undone, and his zipper seconds later, they are both practically panting with impatience to join. Rick's cock springs free from his pants, thick, hard, and long, resting against her stomach. It's so hard that it's tinged with purplish-blue and leaking precum profusely._

 _Michonne wraps her cool, soft hand around him and he almost buckles at the contact. She guides him toward her opening, and once he finds it - he thrusts,_ _ **hard**_ _. Michonne lets out a soft whimper and cradles his head against her breasts as his powerful entrance drives her into the wall again._

 _She feels like a dream. She is a dream. She is perfect, and all-consuming. He sinks into her slick, tight pussy and begins to fuck her against the harsh wood paneling - her plump ass vibrates in his hands as his knuckles brush against the unforgiving wood through the fabric of her dress._

 _They find each other's mouths and try to devour each other as Rick fucks Michonne hard, bouncing her on his shaft against the wall. He rolls his body into hers, his back bowing over as he plunges into her over and over again, utterly lost inside her._

 _Her fingers in his hair, her legs around him, her ass in his hands, his cock buried to the hilt inside her...he wants to feel her cum. So desperately. Finally, she does. She moans into his mouth as her tight pussy beginning to quiver and quake around him, her breasts heaving against him. And he quickly follows, grunting her name like a mantra into her damp, warm neck, his voice muffled by her locs._

 _He doesn't want it to be over. He wants to keep going. He wants her against this wall until the sun comes up. He's been wanting her for months. Michonne rides him against the wall, her hips crashing into his, making him cum even harder._

 _When he finally calms down and very slowly, reluctantly pulls out of her, they stare at each other again._

" _Nice to meet you, Rick Grimes…" she whispers, her eyes glazed with languid satisfaction._

" _Pleasure's all mine, Michonne." Is all he can think to say. It's the truth._

* * *

 _ **this is my try at an AU walking dead thriller.**_

 ** _part "drive."_**

 ** _part "kiss the girls."_**

 ** _all richonne._**

 ** _enjoy._**

 ** _more to come very soon. ;)_**


	2. the white knight next door, part i

_this girl I know_

 _needs some shelter_

 _she don't believe_

 _anyone can help her_

 _I know you want to live yourself_

 _but could you forgive yourself_

 _if you left her_

 _just the way you found her?_

 _you had a baby of your own_

 _and when your baby's gone_

 _she'll be the one_

 _to catch you if you fall_

 _-Massive Attack, 'Protection'_

* * *

 _Rick?_

 _I've got somethin' to tell you…_

 _Please, Rick…_

"No." Rick grunted groggily into his pillow. He was caught between a dream and wakefulness, but he was conscious enough to know, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he didn't want this. His body felt as heavy as concrete. His face was smashed into his pillow. The slow rumble of his breathing penetrated the thick quiet of his empty house. And Lori's faint, whisper-soft voice called out to him from somewhere in the dark.

 _I've got somethin' to tell you, baby…_

"Noo…" he moaned into his pillow, his voice muffled in the quiet. Vice-like, suffocating grief began to well up inside him. A second later, Rick could've sworn he felt the warm, feather-soft caress of a woman's hand on his cheek. Tears sprouted behind his closed eyelids as the thin fingers slipped from his chin and disappeared. He could actually feel the nails in his stubble. Just like Lori used to do when she was watching him sleep.

Rick jerked violently awake, his heart pounding, his eyes darting all over the shaded room, a cold sweat developing on his chest, neck, and around his temples. "Lori...?" he croaked weakly, suddenly hopeful and afraid.

There was no one there. Not a single corner of the space held a shadowy apparition of his late wife, or even a real person. There was no one physically there to touch him. But what he'd felt had seemed so real. Willing himself to calm down and wake up fully, Rick sat up in bed and counted to ten in his head. When that was done, he felt a bit more like himself again - though a little hungover.

He grabbed his wristwatch from the nightstand and saw that it was almost eight in the morning. He needed to get up and get to work. Everyone kept busy in the summer, making his window of lead-hunting time much smaller. And at night, it was harder to get the kind of people he dealt with for this job to talk much, for some reason. Probably because nighttime was primetime, when they had eyes watching them, ears listening out for the secrets they might divulge. In daylight, it was easier to catch them willing to pretend it was just 'a talk with some guy' instead of participating in an investigation with a veteran (albeit disgraced) cop. The deeds he found himself carrying out to solve a case were also more sinister at night. He tried to avoid those if he could. Sometimes he couldn't.

He'd made peace with it. He wasn't the same man he used to be.

Slowly, Rick dragged himself out of bed. He sat on the edge, his head in his hands, trying to remember what he'd been doing last night. He had been looking over the Jones case. And he had been watching his neighbor Michonne. He'd had a very erotic, very lucid dream about her. Fucking her against the wall of her house. Her lips...so goddamned sweet. Shit. He wanted her so bad. He could still feel the ghost of that fantasy slithering through him, as visceral as anything. He looked down at himself and saw that he was erect. He got hard quite often when he thought about her.

He always resisted the urge to touch himself when he was watching her, though. That feeling of creepy guilt usually put a stop to it. But last night, he was finally remembering, he had stepped away from the window, dragged himself into bed, and brought himself off thinking about fucking her. Thinking about those lips. Those thighs. Those gorgeous eyes. That statuesque ass of hers.

He was obsessed with her. He finally had to admit it to himself.

Rick sighed hard and got up to prepare himself for the day.

Firstly, by jerking off again in the shower. The hot, steamy water cascaded over his head and down his body as he crushed his eyes shut and relived last night's fantasy. He came quickly, and intensely, picturing himself sliding in and out of her, _her_ cum coating her dark, silky inner thighs.

Feeling a huge weight lifted from him, tingling head to toe, Rick got out, toweled off, brushed his teeth, and got dressed.

He made himself some strong coffee and skimmed the Jones files again, taking mental notes about where he wanted to start first. Making a mental list of contacts he'd accumulated over the last year and some change that could possibly give him more information. Or eliminate false leads. Or uncover new ones.

He couldn't resist chancing a glance through the blinds in his favorite window as he was holstering his pistol under his arm. No sign of Michonne in her kitchen or bedroom. Her backyard was dotted with remnants of the party last night - bags of plastic cups and beer bottles lined up to be taken to the trash out front, stringed lights still illuminated under the early morning sun. Looked like it had been a fun night.

He wanted to see her before he left for some reason. Some version of her morning self, recovering from the party with coffee at her kitchen counter, perhaps. He watched for another minute or two, but she didn't appear. All he got was a flash of her cat's furry tail darting across her bedroom window. Disappointed (and kicking himself for being a literal stalker), Rick was about to give up and close his blinds all the way again.

Then finally, he spotted her. She was dressed in her nurse's uniform as she emerged from the house into the back yard. He'd forgotten she usually was up and out of the house by now. He rarely saw her in the mornings during the week. He watched as she headed for the two large, black garbage bags full of party trash. She took one and began to drag it toward the gate that would lead her around the side of her house, to her front yard.

Rick saw her make it there, where she became obscured by the fence separating their houses. Just the top of her head was visible as she carried the large garbage bag to her curb.

He realized that he was itching to go out there and - what, he didn't know. Offer his help. Speak, finally. Look into her eyes. He'd been watching her, all by himself, for what felt like ages now. Last night had been one of the most vivid fantasies he'd ever had. He couldn't shake it. But it hadn't been the real thing, and that made him feel...restless.

He needed to do something about it. Finally, Rick made up his mind. A second later he was gone from the window, heading down the stairs and out the door.

* * *

Michonne Williamson woke up late.

" _Oh nooo, Michoooone…!_ " she groaned to herself when she finally fought her way to consciousness and realized that it was almost eight o'clock. She covered her eyes with her hands and sighed.

Her cat Hercules mewed crankily from the foot of her bed, jumping off with an indignant swoosh of his fat, furry tail.

She was supposed to report for an eight-thirty shift change at Grady Memorial, and she was going to be at least an hour late. She contemplated taking the car in her garage instead of the bus, but thought better of it. That wasn't an option, she told herself - reminded of her promise to herself, and to Andre.

Andre.

Michonne missed her son terribly. Sometimes, she would stand in the doorway to his room - a room he spent little more than a couple of weeks in every three months - and stare at all of his things. His books, his collection of comic book action figurines, his shoes lined up under his window, his Lebron James and Spock posters. His video games. Counting the days until he would be there with her again, breathing warm, loving life into her empty house. But it was safer this way, him staying with her sister Sabine. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. To make the sometimes crushing loneliness somehow worth it.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The impromptu house party her best friend Sasha had forced on her last night was supposed to help with all that. And it had been fun. But in the light of a new day, the momentary cheerfulness she felt among her friends and coworkers faded away like footprints from sand in the wake of an ocean tide.

She was alone again.

After a few minutes of chastising herself mentally for allowing Sasha to peer pressure her into drinking and partying on a work night, Michonne finally rolled out of bed and stumbled through her morning routine.

First and foremost, she did her check of all the locks in the house - windows, front door, back door, garage door. Her gun was still on the top shelf of her hall closet, hidden in its tin safety box, which was still securely locked. Her emergency rucksack was still there, too - containing two backup "burner" phones, clothes, passports for her and Andre, a wig, and her Little Black Book. She didn't have time to check for the money she'd hidden, but she did this every morning and she knew it was there. If she didn't hurry up, she'd miss her bus. There hadn't been a whisper of danger in almost five years. She had to tell herself that it was okay. _She_ was okay. She was safe.

Once she fed Hercules, she barely had enough time to shower, brush her teeth, get dressed and take some Advil for her hangover. She remembered almost too late that it was garbage pickup day. Shit. She did not want all that stuff from last night to sit in her backyard, baking in the Georgia heat, attracting flies.

Michonne sighed and decided to just get it over with as quickly as possible. She was surprised to find that it wasn't as bad back there as she'd thought. At least it looked like they'd cleaned up a bit. The trash was in two big plastic bags and the food was nowhere in sight. If she had time to check, she suspected she would find the leftovers stacked up in containers and foil in her fridge. She couldn't really remember what happened after they all took shots, so she was grateful that at least someone was thoughtful enough to manage it. The shots made her tired, and she found herself ready for bed not even an hour later as her party guests reluctantly started filing out to head home. That must've been around one in the morning.

Juggling her purse and house keys, Michonne locked her back door and started with the biggest, heaviest looking bag of trash. _Just get it over with and get your ass to that bus, Michonne_...she told herself as she took hold of it. It was sticky and heavy, but she took a deep breath and started to haul it as best she could toward her gate, around the side of the house, and to her front curb.

She found herself becoming more and more irritated as she went, smelling the stale remnants of beer, margarita, and cheese dip wafting up to her from the hot bag of garbage. Sasha's brother Tyreese and boyfriend Abraham (both in attendance last night) were two big, burly ass men who could've easily carried these bags to the curb last night. But, no, they were wasted (so was everyone, including Sasha) and left Michonne to deal with the disgusting aftermath on her own.

As she made it to her front yard, clearing the fence separating her property from her neighbor's, Michonne happened to look up at his house. It was identical to hers - all the houses on this block were pretty much the same, with the exception of some modifications depending on the size of the family. It was identical, and it wasn't. It was always dark over there. At night, she'd be lucky to catch one little light on at her neighbor's house. And during the day, too, it somehow just seemed...dark...over there. That, and she swore (even though she never caught sight of anyone to confirm this) sometimes it felt like someone was watching her from this house. She knew it was paranoid and weird to think so, and she could only give the ghosts of her past (and her unexpectedly persistent attraction to him) credit for it.

As if she had conjured him with her thoughts, Michonne's gaze slipped down from his windows to his front walkway, where she noticed him standing there. Her mysterious neighbor. He was emerging from his house. His eyes landed right on hers.

Rick. That was his name.

Michonne felt something stir inside her, watching him watch her. Some kind of...pull. Some heated flutter. Some quickening of her heartbeat. Some kind of desire she hadn't experienced in what felt like a long, long time. It was like that every time she saw him, which wasn't often.

That first day she saw him, moving in by himself with his modest collection of belongings, she had felt an instant attraction to him that lingered in the back of her mind ever since. He was tall, quiet, serious-looking, and very handsome. His eyes were the prettiest blue she'd ever seen. They were shiny. Hypnotizing. His lips were pink, plump, and usually set into a grim, hard line. His jaw (usually covered in a fine layer of salt and pepper scruff) was chiseled like granite, and his thick, dark brown hair landed in wavy curls at the nape of his neck.

She liked the way he dressed. He looked like an urban cowboy - always in brown boots, snug black or dark blue jeans, and usually wearing some version of a button down shirt that hugged what she could tell were lean, toned muscles. All he was missing was a good, crisp Stetson. Today the shirt was darkened, smooth denim. It made his blue eyes shine out at her in the sunlight.

There was also always an aura of sadness about him. More than that. Downright _gloom_. He seemed perfectly polite, however, judging by the two very brief encounters she'd had with him. Both times, he didn't speak much - one or two words at a time. But his gaze was always unwavering, intense. As if she was the only person in the world, and he was looking at more than just the surface of her. Like he was looking inside her, pulling her in. It was strange, and intriguing.

He was looking at her exactly that way now as he made his way slowly down his front walkway toward her. He seemed even more attractive now than she remembered from the last time they'd spoken two weeks ago. That time had merely been a 'hello' and 'good evening'. She wondered if it was going to be the same this morning, but there was purpose in his unhurried gait that hinted otherwise.

"Need some help?" His deep tenor, coated with a sexy southern drawl, reached her ears as he slowed down at the threshold between his yard and hers. He gestured to her cargo.

Michonne suddenly remembered that she was standing in the middle of her yard, holding a big bag of repugnant trash. She snapped out of her fixation on the man's cerulean eyes and smiled softly. "Sure. Thanks."

"No problem at all." He came closer to her and she got a whiff of him. He smelled something like smoky leather, and some sort of spicy musk she couldn't specifically name. She noticed that he was armed as he reached over to grab the bag from her. He had a _big_ pistol holstered under his arm. The sight of it made her heart flutter, and a huge tug of curiosity rippled through her. He stepped back, turning to carry her trash to the collections of bins at her curb. He flipped one open and deposited the trash there in one smooth sweep. "I'll get that other one for you too, if you want."

She had been so taken with the way he spoke, his low, earnest drawl, that it took a moment for his words to set in. She frowned, collecting herself. "What other one...?" And she remembered the other bag of party trash in her backyard. "Oh! Right. Thank you."

As Michonne contemplated how he could possibly know it was there, she briefly considered that he really _was_ watching her. Ignoring the fierce shiver of intrigue such a thought caused her, she realized that he must've heard how loud and rowdy things got toward the end and figured there'd be plenty of trash to show for it. She felt so rude and absentminded, shaking herself out of her breathless attraction to a stranger.

Rick ignored the look of thoughtfulness on her face and sauntered past her, avoiding eye contact, silently kicking himself for giving himself away like that. He had to be more careful. He didn't want her to think he was some sort of creep. _That is_ _ **exactly**_ _what you are_ , he realized, his heart pounding. He felt his cheeks burning as he crossed her yard toward the side of her house, deciding to try and say as little as possible, so as not to slip up and clue her in on just how obsessed he was with her.

Still, right now she was talking to him and he was excited, he couldn't help himself.

"Listen, I'm really sorry about the noise last night." Michonne followed him, trying to pay attention to apologizing instead of studying his slightly bow-legged stride. The way those jeans hugged his long legs, the cut of his toned arms in that snug shirt. And that _gun_. It was so big. Hanging under his arm, gleaming in the morning sun. She wondered who he was, _what_ he was - a cop? That made her heartbeat quicken as she followed him around the side of her house to her backyard. "My pushy best friend sprung a surprise party on me and things got a little out of hand. I hope we didn't keep you up late."

He paused at the gate, turning to shake his head at her. "It's alright. I sleep like the dead, anyway," he said, his eyes flickering up and down her body before landing again on her face. He swallowed and averted his gaze again, gesturing behind him past the gate. "May I…?"

He didn't talk much, but he was so polite and shy. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes on hers for too long, but when he did...the intensity of his gaze made sparks go off in her belly.

"Of course." She answered. More like whispered breathlessly, watching as he rolled up his sleeves and tucked them in at the elbows of his tan, muscular forearms. He let her go first, and she could feel his eyes following her from beneath his feathery lashes as she passed him. "I still feel bad, though," she continued, turning to watch him glance around her yard once, seeming to make some silent decision to himself before his eyes landed again on her pile of trash. "She actually brought a DJ. It might've gotten kinda loud, I'm so sorry."

Michonne crossed her arms in an attempt to hide her sprouting nipples as her tall, quiet neighbor bent and grabbed the nearly-overflowing bag. Before he hauled it upward, his eyes landed on hers just one more time. Michonne felt a flash of heat ignite in her very core. She wished she wasn't trapped in her clunky uniform. She wished she didn't look like a puffy, sleep-deprived mess. He was _so handsome_.

Rick slowly stood upright, the taut muscles of the arm holding the bag flexing under the fabric of his denim shirt. "You don't have to apologize, Michonne."

She smiled, butterflies flittering around in her heated belly. "You remembered my name…"

"Hard to forget a name like that." He shifted on his feet with the big bag of trash held firmly in his outstretched hand, getting shy again. "It's uh, it's real nice."

Goddamn, he was adorable. And he cut an unfairly sexy figure, leaning slightly to the side under the sun rays in her quiet backyard. "Thank you. And you're Rick. Right?"

"That's right." He swayed, tilting his head at her, his thick lips pursed, studying her. Her skin was so deep, soft-looking, and slightly dewy. Her lips were so plump and shapely. He'd never kissed lips like those ever in his life. He very badly wanted to. She was wearing her locs up in a bun, wrapped in a beautifully graphic scarf. Her eyes were sparkling; they were so big and gorgeous, framed by long black lashes that curved upward elegantly. "You need me to grab anythin' else?" He looked around the yard again to mask his intense attraction to her.

Michonne shook her head, fidgeting with her purse and door keys under his gaze.

Deciding to give her a break from his captivated focus, Rick carried the bag easily out through the gate again. Michonne followed him along the side of the house. She couldn't help her curiosity - the tug and pull she always experienced whenever they interacted. He deposited the second bag into her bin, just as they could hear the garbage truck roaring toward them far off down the long, winding hill that spanned the length of their street. Rick stood in the street with one boot on the curb, his hands at his sides, now. He used the harsh sunlight to mask his intense gaze as he squinted over at her. Michonne allowed the inexplicable pull in her core to bring her to the edge of the curb. She was close enough to see the crystal shards of blue in his eyes, glittering under the sunlight. But she wasn't nearly as close as she wanted to be. Yeah. She was attracted to him, alright.

"Thank you again, Rick. My son Andre's never around to deal with the gross stuff."

Rick let a slow grin break up his normally stoic expression. He licked his lips and glanced off in the distance, recognizing the garbage truck rounding the corner. He figured he had until the truck made it up the hill to take in every detail he could of her up close.

"Any time. Gross stuff doesn't bother me so much."

She was just out of his reach on the edge of the curb he leaned against. He was both surprised and excited to find that the invisible pull he felt in his dream was just as real and even more intense now that he was awake and _finally_ talking to her. They gazed at each other, letting the sounds of the neighborhood shroud them in pleasant quiet for a moment.

"Listen, I have to get to work…" Michonne said reluctantly, gesturing up the hill toward her bus stop. "I'm really late. I don't want to miss my bus."

Rick wanted to offer her a ride immediately, just to spend a few more minutes in her company, but he knew that would probably be pushing it. He had managed not to creep her out so far, he had to quit while he was ahead or he'd give himself away. He lifted his foot from the curb and stepped back, nodding his understanding and lowering his eyes.

"Hey, why don't you come to the next party?" Michonne blurted out, biting her lip as she backed up onto the sidewalk. She'd have to run if she was going to catch that bus. But she couldn't help needing to see those bright blue eyes trained on hers one more time. Maybe she could even get him to smile that unhurried, crooked smile of his. "I can't just let you carry my trash to the curb every week without at least having you over sometime."

He _did_ laugh at that, a throaty, quiet chuckle that sent his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He looked up at the trees, shifting on his feet again before looking down into her eyes. The reward was every bit as sweet as she'd hoped. His gaze was so intense. Michonne paused her steps, taking him in. "Every week, huh? Is that what I'm agreein' to?"

She shrugged, feigning contrition. "Told you. Gross stuff." He laughed quietly some more as she made a disgusted face for him.

Rick couldn't help simply gazing at her, his hands flexing at his sides, thinking that it didn't matter what she was asking - he'd give it to her. He'd show up and take her trash to her curb every week if that's what she wanted, whether she was really asking him to or not. That, and more. Much more. Whatever she wanted. He was utterly smitten, and he barely knew her. That realization hit him hard as he nodded, powerless against her glowing skin, pouty lips, and her big, gorgeous brown eyes.

"Alright."

At his easy, unbothered acceptance of her half-joking request, Michonne felt her pussy throb just once - a jolt of arousal just strong enough to let her know that she was going to fuck him the first opportunity that presented itself. But right now, she was late. "Shit, I gotta go." She gave him a little wave. "See you later, Rick."

He watched her as she started to jog, up the hill toward her bus stop. Then Rick started walking back toward his own driveway, watching her body move and sway in her form-fitting nurses' uniform. He backed up his drive, just as the garbage truck was pulling up to her curb to grab her trash, watching her disappear from view. It was only then that Rick peeled his eyes away from the horizon and planted it on his own truck.

He climbed in, started her up, and sat there, letting the engine run and the AC get going.

 _Damn_. He wasn't going to be able to stop, now. He had to have her. She was so impossibly lovely. And she had an effect on him that was impossible to deny. All he'd done was carry her trash to her curb and act like a lecherous creep for a few minutes while she tried to be gracious and welcoming. But he wanted more of her time. He wanted to find any excuse to talk to her, or see her. He knew he would have to wait, though, until she made some move to act on her promised invitation. He didn't want to come on too strong.

Though 'strong' was _exactly_ what he would call this feeling. It had his dick currently sitting hard and heavy in his jeans like a lead pipe. He didn't know when, or where, or _how_ he was going to - but he knew he _had_ to find a way to have Michonne. Every inch of her. On his cock. In his mouth. In his hands.

Rick took a deep breath, putting the AC on full blast, hoping that the chill would eventually drive his persistent erection away. He backed out of his driveway and started down the hill away from where Michonne had gone to catch the bus. He couldn't wait to see her again. As he drove, reaching over to scroll through radio stations on his dashboard, he knew that if he couldn't see her in person, he would be at his favorite window within minutes of getting home.

He let that be something to look forward to as he set out for the city.


	3. the white knight next door, part ii

_...written to the musical score of..._

' _Green Desert' by Tangerine Dream_

* * *

 _That telling electricity is starting to lick at the air the night Amy Jones is taken._

 _The static of summertime restlessness seemed to originate from cities like Atlanta, extending to the surrounding towns. Amy can feel it, all the way out here in Brookhaven._

 _The air itself even smells a little smoky as she steps out onto the damp street, leaving the ladies room attached to the gas station, preparing to head for her car and then head home. It had rained a bunch while she was working the night shift, making the atmosphere feel heavy, oppressive. But she's too tired to pay it much attention. It's past one-thirty in the morning, and she has a class at ten. She needs to get home and get some sleep._

 _The Shady Shell gas station is a little off the beaten path, but that's exactly why she likes working there. She lives in the city, but she enjoys the commute out to her 'good for nothing job' (according to her daddy, anyway). She gets to think, daydream, study, chat with the locals, and enjoy some peace and quiet for a little while before returning to her hectic life in Atlanta._

 _Amy walks to her car, humming her favorite Carrie Underwood song wearily as she goes, fighting off a yawn. As she unlocks the door to her little red Ford Fiesta and climbs inside, she is totally oblivious to the fact that she's being watched. Very closely._

 _The Beast sits in his truck, his red eyes gleaming. He's angry tonight. The feeling boils and flows like molten lava in his bloodstream, just under the surface of his skin. He needs to unleash, or he's gonna explode. Tonight, his raging monster is itching to_ _ **indulge**_ _._

 _But first he needs a fresh new plaything. The blonde's the one._

 _He watches her from his vantage point down the road a piece, in the shadows. Watches her tie her hair up into a ponytail to ease the pressure of the humidity as she walks to her shitty little sedan. His truck is gonna pulverize that thing. He can hardly wait. When she gets inside, he straightens up in his leather bound seat, preparing to start his engine and follow her. The fire in his veins is still there, but there's also that sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach that he always gets. Always. Some part of his other self trying to warn him that he's damaging his soul. But like always, he ignores it. He's so angry he could choke the life out of something. May as well be the blonde. She looks like that 'heartless virgin' type. The type that keeps a guy danglin' by his balls before she cuts 'em off and tosses 'em in the trash. All to preserve her virtue. All to protect her heart. Or so chicks like her always claim. But chicks like her don't have hearts, The Beast knows._

 _So he's gonna see how much she can take tonight. And maybe tomorrow night, too. Hell, maybe he'd keep this one all week. It depends on if she plays nice or not._

 _She's pulling out of the gas station driveway. He starts up and eases his truck back out onto the road, following her. His assault rifle is in his passenger seat, already locked and loaded. The Beast feels like roaring with ferocious excitement as he flies down the back road after her. Way out here in the sticks, the road is deserted at this hour. His plan is to cut her off before she reaches the exit for the highway._

" _I'm comin' for ya, baby..." He growls, glaring bullets into his windshield, staring after her little Fiesta. "The Beast is comin' for ya! Buckle your seatbelt, bitch."_

 _Amy's driving, blasting her AC, listening to her music. Still oblivious. Until she notices the lights in her rearview mirror growing brighter and brighter...faster and faster...the beams getting larger and larger. Her heart seizes and her eyes fly open as wide as saucers as the truck rams hard into her driver's side taillight, shattering it, sending her jerking forward against her seatbelt._

 _Amy somehow recovers, her heart thundering in her chest, her entire body riddled with tremors of fear, and floors the gas pedal._

 _The Beast lets out a violent bark of laughter, punching the roof of his truck excitedly. The adrenaline that pumps through him prevents him from feeling the sting in his knuckles from the impact. His dick starts getting hard as he realizes that she's going to try to escape him. "Oh, baby,_ _ **let's go!**_ _Come on!" He barks again. "Ow-ow-ow-_ _ **owww!**_ " _He howls, flooring the gas and reaching over to grab his rifle as they speed down the dark, deserted road._

 _When the first shots ring out, Amy can hardly believe her ears. Until she_ _ **feels**_ _them, piercing the glass around her, plunk, plunk, plunking into the metal of her tin can of a car. She screams, swerving, barely managing to get control of the wheel as she narrowly misses running off the road - this time. Her heart feels like it's going to rip its way out of her chest. Tears sting her eyes as she tries to make sense of what's happening. She presses her foot down on the gas as hard as it will go. Maybe if she could get to the highway..._

" _Come on, come on, come oonnnn…!" she wails, panic settling in, her stinging eyes darting up at her rearview mirror every few seconds to see if he's still right on her tail._

 _She isn't outrunning him. He barrels down on her, his truck resembling a shadow monster as he rams into her again. And then again - BOOM! Amy swears she hears howling._

 _That's when she looks up and sees his face in her rearview mirror. Just once. Once is enough. It scares the living daylights out of her. It's the face of a crazy, soulless son-of-a-bitch. His eyes are hooded by a black ball cap, covered in shadow, and he's grinning evilly. That grin tells her she's gonna suffer before this is over with._

 _More shots ring out, the flashing lights of the discharging weapon in his hand dazzling her as more parts of her car are punctured by bullets, including her back windows. Amy ducks as glass shatters everywhere, swerving again. And then with another hollow plunk, the last bullet that hits her car also slices into her body._

 _Amy feels searing pain invade the flesh at her side, just at the bottom of her rib cage. It hits one of the bones, which she feels splintering, like something is sawing its way inside of her. Warm, thick blood begins to spread around the wound, and Amy becomes dizzy. A strong wave of sickening nausea sweeps over her, causing her head to spin and her vision to dart in and out of darkness._

 _Then - BAM! - his truck sideswipes her a final time, causing her to lose control of the car again. Her car starts spinning around and around in a circle. Amy feels earth-shattering fear rising in her as she catches glimpses of the road and then trees, then his truck lights, and then trees again before coming to an abrupt, thundering halt. Her last, panic-stricken thought is that she's going to die._

 _Everything goes black._

* * *

Michonne thought about her neighbor Rick almost the entire bus ride to Grady Memorial.

She had caught it about a nanosecond before it pulled off, but thankfully she was on her way, so she allowed the rest of her anxiety over being late to subside. There was nothing she could do about it except enjoy the ride. And think about the handsome, mysterious man who'd carried her trash to the curb this morning. Being late certainly hadn't stopped her from lingering to take in as much of him as she could up close for the first time.

She couldn't get that slow grin, those pink lips, or those piercing blue eyes out of her mind. Nor that gravelly, small town southern drawl of his. How shy and yet incredibly masculine he seemed, shifting on his feet in her presence almost like he was trying hard not to invade her personal space. She wanted him to, she realized. She felt the desire tugging at her the entire time they talked. His physicality was so...magnetized. She hadn't been prepared for it. She wanted to be close enough to inhale his scent and touch his skin. That pull, where had it come from? This morning had been the longest conversation they'd had since he moved in next door. There was really no reason for her to feel so drawn to him. Except that she did.

She thought hard about it, conjuring up the memory of how his eyes shone in the sunlight. There was something behind them that she identified with. He was sad. No, more than that. He looked haunted. He seemed as isolated as she usually felt, all alone in her house without her son. It might've been rude of her not to ask after his family, but it didn't appear that he had one. He looked like he was in his late thirties or early forties, was he a bachelor? He wasn't wearing a ring. But she never saw anyone visiting him, not even hot young dates. And what about that gun he carried? And that feeling she got whenever she looked up at his house...like there was someone watching her?

Anyone she talked to would tell her those were alarm bells. Except Michonne wasn't your average suburban single mother. She had a past. She kept her old self locked away in a box, deep down in the dark of her memories. Michonne thought she saw the same dark kind of detachment from the past in Rick's eyes. It only made her more curious. Instead of her fight or flight mode kicking in, she wanted to know more about him.

"Same old Michonne…" she chastised herself under her breath as the bus rolled and bumped along. This was _classic_ her. Feeling drawn to the kind of men other, sane women would run away from. She could just imagine what Sabine would say if she saw her hard-headed little sister flirting like a twit with a haunted-looking loner she barely knew. It was those eyes, more than anything. Something in Rick's eyes grabbed hold of her and would not let her go.

 _The way he looked at her_...especially during his simple, yet earnest response to her joke about carrying her trash to the curb every week. Like he was ready and willing to do that, and much more. Like all she had to do was ask. That look was dangerous. It was the kind of look she could become addicted to, especially from a man like him. Remembering it sent a flutter of heat and arousal through her sex that she couldn't ignore.

She only had a few stops left before the bus got to the one across the street from the hospital. Michonne decided to snap out of her daydreams and shove them deep in the back of her mind. She didn't have any business being so curious about or attracted to the _stranger_ next door. The days when she could be so reckless with the people she let into her life were long over. The old Michonne didn't - couldn't - exist anymore.

She fished her phone out of her purse and called the cell she'd bought for Andre for his birthday last year.

He picked up on the first ring. "Mama!"

It made Michonne's heart swell to ten times its size every time she heard the excitement in his voice when he picked up the phone. After all she'd put him through, and after so long of promising him he could come and live with her permanently once he was sixteen, he was still such a kind, patient, loving little boy. He still loved her unconditionally, and he still got excited to see her, talk to her, be around her. She sometimes felt like she didn't deserve to be so blessed by this child.

"Hey, peanut. What are you doing up so early with school out?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh and Michonne suppressed a laugh. "Aunt Sabine is making me do _chores_. She's so _mean_ when it's hot out."

Michonne did laugh out loud this time, causing a couple of people on the bus to give her blatant side-eye.

"Yeah, she can be, baby. Trust me, I had to live with her once too. But she's your aunt and she takes good care of you, so do your chores and try not to complain too much okay?"

Sabine hated the Georgia heat. She was constantly griping about it. It put her in a bad mood, being inundated with humidity. She used to live in California, where the temperature was always pretty much perfect. That was back in the seventies, though, when _she_ had been the carefree one. She never ceased to remind Michonne that if it weren't for her dedication to making sure Andre had regular access to his mother (if you could call a couple of weeks every three months and a few visits here and there 'regular'), she'd be long gone from Georgia for good.

"Yes ma'am…" Andre replied glumly, before adding almost sheepishly: "I can't wait to come stay with you, though. I really miss you, ma."

Michonne fought off a surge of emotion, tears threatening her as she answered: "I miss you, too, peanut. So much."

" _Mamaaa_ \- I'm almost ten! Do you _have_ to keep calling me that?"

"Yep. Ten or a hundred, you'll always be my peanut."

"Ugh...okay. Just not in front of people, though."

"Hm...I think I'll need at least a hundred kisses, a dozen hugs and a few back rubs to make that deal, buddy."

"Deal! That's _easy_."

She chuckled at his willingness to do whatever it took to get her to stop calling him by the nickname she'd given him when he was a baby. Back then, his little brown body did resemble an adorable, plush little peanut. He was a beautiful child. Maybe he had outgrown the nickname, but she couldn't help herself. Time moved too fast. She didn't have enough of it with him as it was, and once he reached sixteen, she'd be lucky if he even still wanted to come and live with her. If he turned out anything like she'd been as a teenager, she knew she was in for some rocky years. Deciding not to focus on such fears, she changed the subject, scanning the landscape outside her window to make sure she wouldn't miss her stop.

"Sooo, what do you want to do this week? I'm taking a couple of days off. We can do whatever you want."

She fell into easy, playful banter with her growing child until she walked into work, momentarily forgetting about Rick.

Her day started off with a stern look and rolled eyes from the nurse she was supposed to relieve in the ER, followed by hours of traumas, allergy attacks, a couple of paranoid schizophrenics, a manic bipolar episode, a summer camp bus accident (cuts and scrapes and a case of whiplash), and the unfortunate job of bathing, feeding, and detoxing a homeless drug addict as penance for her tardiness. He was feisty - grabbing her ass twice and going in for a third attempt when she finally got fed up and called for security.

"Mornin', 'Chonne...I see you still got one foot in the grave from last night." Abraham, one of the ER security guards and her best friend Sasha's main squeeze, winked at her once they'd restrained the homeless guy.

"Yeah, no thanks to _you_ , Abe." Michonne rolled her eyes as she filled out Mr. Ass Grabber's chart. "What the hell was in that punch you made?"

Abraham laughed his grand, boisterous laugh and fingered his ginger handlebars mischievously. "Trade secret, darlin'. Just be glad I didn't serve ya my extra, _extra_ special recipe. One sip o'that and Sasha might be wheelin' _your_ fine ass into this funhouse."

"You're one to talk. I see those bags under your eyes, mister."

Speaking of the devil, in came Sasha, an EMT here at Grady, with a pediatric case. Michonne dumped the chart and followed Sasha's gurney to one of the open trauma rooms. Sasha looked hung-over too but she was powering through it as she rattled off the child's vitals to the attending doctor. It was an eighteen month old in respiratory arrest. Whenever pedes cases came in, Michonne always thought of Andre. For a long time, she hadn't been there for him. During that time, he could've been in one of these trauma rooms while she was off gallivanting across the globe with a sadistic asshole.

The doctor got the child's airway open with forceps and found that he'd swallowed his mother's earring somehow. After putting in for a chest film, CT scan and toxicology lab test, things started to quiet down, so Michonne took a much needed break at the nurses' station. She felt like she hadn't gotten a chance to stop and take a breath all morning. She was distracted and all over the place, and she didn't think it was just the hangover.

She tried to read a newspaper article about a new space and science museum opening up in downtown Atlanta that she wanted to take Andre to (he was obsessed with space, astronauts, science fiction and the like), but she couldn't focus on the words. A pair of beautiful, intense blue eyes kept invading her mind. A low southern drawl uttering her name...

"Hey. Earth to Michonne…?" Another, quite familiar southern accent reached her ears. Michonne looked up from her newspaper to see her friend and fellow RN Maggie Green peering at her over the counter at the nurses' station. She had no idea how long Maggie had been standing there, trying to get her attention.

"Oh sorry, Maggie. What's going on? Another trauma?"

"Nope. Peanut M&Ms. Your favorite." Maggie frowned at Michonne, offering her the bag of candy she'd gotten from the vending machine up on the OR floor. Michonne could usually smell those things coming from a mile away, everyone joked. If you were eating some anywhere near Michonne, she'd find you and make you cough it up so you could share some with her. _Especially_ if she was hungry, cranky, or hung-over. Which made her obliviousness to one of her best friends standing right next to her with a whole bag of her favorite chocolate candy all the more odd. "You alright? You've had your head in the clouds all mornin'. Barely spoke to me when you came in."

Michonne sighed, putting her newspaper down to reach for the bag. She poured out a small handful of the chocolate covered peanuts and popped a few in her mouth. "Sorry...I'm a little distracted today."

"What is it? You worried about Andre? Sabine bein' a bitch again?"

Michonne chuckled, wincing at her sister's reputation among her friends, all thanks to her complaining. "No, nothing like that…"

"Well, it's _somethin'_. I've never seen you ignore _chocolate_ before." Maggie pressed.

"Heath must've left an impression." Sasha appeared at the station next to Maggie suddenly, blowing on a cup of coffee - her third that morning.

They were all in bad shape after Sasha sprang last night's party on Michonne without warning. She couldn't say she was completely sorry, though. Michonne had been moping around for weeks, and Sasha could tell she was going a little stir crazy. So she killed two birds with one stone, keeping Michonne out of trouble while letting her know how many people cared about her and loved who she had become. Plus, she'd been hoping to find an opportunity to introduce Michonne to a potential new guy in her life. "I knew you guys were getting cozy over there, drinking Abe's punch."

" _I_ noticed somethin', alright." Maggie smiled empathetically. "I noticed Michonne last a whole five minutes before makin' a run for it. Good job, hon."

Michonne blinked blankly at them both. "Who…?"

Sasha's jaw dropped. "Heath? My brother's friend from work? The guy I introduced you to last night?"

"Oh. Him." Michonne had forgotten all about him. Sasha had basically forced him on her last night and then abandoned ship, leaving them alone to get to know each other. She was polite of course, but she wasn't really feeling it. Heath was nice, but a bit boring and kind of self-centered, if she had to put a label on him. "I wouldn't exactly call it 'cozy'. Or much of an impression. Sorry, Sash."

"Ouch…" It was Maggie's turn to wince. "I thought he was handsome."

Sasha rolled her eyes at Michonne. "Seriously? Heath's a great guy! Maggie's right, he's cute! He makes good money? He's…funny?"

"He's corny." Michonne deadpanned, popping more peanut M&Ms into her mouth. "And he talked about himself the whole time."

Sasha wasn't buying it. "I saw you laughing at those corny jokes, bitch, don't play me. It's been _almost a year since you got laid_ , Michonne. So tape his mouth shut while you fuck him."

The women all laughed at that, but Michonne still shook her friend's matchmaking efforts off. "You may be right, but...I'm just not that into him."

"Okay, _fine_. I give up trying to set your persnickety ass up."

"Abe taught you that word, didn't he?" Michonne teased, and Sasha tossed a paper clip at her.

"Shut up." The petite paramedic smiled, confirming that things were still as happy and sappy as ever with herself and her big boo, Abraham. Michonne envied her friend her happiness, she realized. Sasha wanting to help her find some of that kind of happiness was very sweet, and it made her love her friend even more. But sometimes Michonne wondered if she was ever meant to have anything…normal. She wondered if perhaps instead she was destined to live at extremes – either completely alone or caught up in an earth-shattering whirlwind.

"Well _someone's_ got you distracted." Maggie interrupted Michonne's thoughts, giving her friend a knowing smile. She wasn't going to let it drop. "I noticed that little smile you've been givin' to yourself all mornin'."

" _Ooh…_ " Sasha perked up, raising a suspicious eyebrow over her coffee cup. "Okay so if it's not Heath, then who is it?" she pressed, boarding the gossip train with Maggie. "Come on. Spill the tea. My break's only another ten minutes."

And they both began to chant at her, tapping their free hands against the station counter. "Spill it, spill it, spill it!"

"Okay, _okay…_!" They were both ridiculous, especially when they teamed up against her like this. Michonne rolled her eyes, grabbing the bag of M &Ms from Maggie and pouring out the last of them as payment. She popped a couple into her mouth and chewed, making them wait. Finally, with a vivid picture of him leaning against her curb in her mind, she told them about her encounter with her neighbor.

"He is... _something_." She finished the story, sighing appreciatively. Sasha and Maggie hung on her every word. "I don't think he's from the city. He comes off like this small town kinda guy, you know? Speaks with an accent, raised with manners, all that."

" _And...?_ " Sasha raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing full well there was something on the other side of that. Whatever it was had Michonne's eyes glazed over all day.

Michonne felt a little embarrassed admitting this, but it wasn't like either of them would be surprised. They were all friends because these two could see the real Michonne through her aloof attitude. They knew she had a past, that she was vulnerable, and her self-isolation was a conscious choice. They never judged her for it. They all stood up for each other, supported each other, and perhaps most importantly they gave each other a safe, trusted space to talk about whatever the hell they wanted.

They knew her, inside and out, these two women. Michonne being distracted meant something. So they listened. Michonne shrugged, only half-heartedly trying to hide how affected she was. "There's something else about him." She admitted, lapsing into the memory of his small town politeness yet stoic demeanor, his shy grin. "He's so sweet, but he's so _intense_. He seems really charming, but he's always alone. I just can't help wondering why a guy like that has no family to speak of. And why he's so sad."

"So he's mysterious." Maggie breathed empathetically.

"So he could be a sex offender." Sasha deadpanned. "Typical Michonne..." she added, which didn't surprise Michonne at all.

There was a reason Sasha was trying to set her up with straight-laced, upstanding dudes like Heath. Michonne being alone made her restless, and she didn't make the smartest decisions when she was feeling trapped. Michonne had been too focused on her long term goals with her son to let herself stray off the path, until now.

"Oh _come on_ , Sash," Maggie rolled her eyes. She was the black sheep of her evangelical family, and she was always challenging Sasha's conservative attitudes. It was like they were her little devil and angel, constantly arguing the different sides of a case. "He's probably just one of those middle-aged Southern bachelor types. They're what my grandma used to call ' _a real catch'_ and ' _a real man's man'._ " Maggie made air quotes with her fingers. "They're not all bad. We had 'em back in my home town."

"So Michonne's getting hit on by some plantation owner's descendant?" Sasha joked, sipping her coffee.

Maggie swatted at her with a long chart folder, shooting back: "Georgia is more liberal than you might think, thank you very much, Sash!"

It was Sasha's turn to roll her eyes. "Whatever. I'll bet you ran as far away from those 'bachelor types' as you could." She turned her attention back to her other best friend. "Look 'Chonne - he's cute and everything, I get it, but you don't know anything about this guy."

"You're just trying to get me to date Heath." Michonne laughed and shook her head. "And trust me, he's _way_ more than 'cute', Sasha. _God_ , you should see the way he looks at me. I can't really explain it. You'll think I'm crazy."

"You better go for it, Michonne. Or hell, _I_ will." Maggie encouraged with a wink.

They were both trying to make light of it, but Sasha still shook her head. "You don't have to give Heath a chance, fine. It's your life, and I'm not your mama. All I'm saying is remember what happened the last time you got lured in by the 'mysterious handsome guy' act."

Michonne lost her smile. Again, she wasn't surprised that Sasha had gone there. She was always looking out for Michonne. She treated Michonne like more of a sister than Sabine did sometimes. And once again, she was right. Michonne's old self was a lost young woman pretending that she was in control. Pretending that she was doing exactly what she wanted with her life, defying her oppressive parents and daring to live the life her sister never had the guts to pursue. She was drawn to another kind of darkness in a man once before, and it led her into some of the most terrifying years of her life. But those years had also given her Andre, and for better or worse, she couldn't completely hate them.

"It was different with him," Michonne said quietly, refusing to say his name. "I don't think Rick is like that. I may be a little crazy, but I'm not stupid."

"You're not crazy, either, 'Chonne…" Sasha softened, putting her coffee down and grasping her friend's hands over the counter. "I want you to be happy, but you gotta be careful. You know that, right?"

"I know." Michonne squeezed back. "Honestly, I'm not trying to date the guy or anything. I just think he's good-looking, that's all."

Sasha laughed at her, tossing her cup of coffee as her radio began to make noise. There was a call coming in. Her break was over. "Yeah right...you're practically drooling all over these charts. See you later, liar."

Michonne tossed her pen after her friend as she jogged down the hall away from the nurses' station. Maggie decided to do a lap around the ER, checking the vitals of all the patients in beds and making sure the triage nurses had enough supplies. Michonne would man the station while she was gone.

"I say _fuuuck hiiiiim_ …." The young brunette whispered conspiratorially, making a silly face before disappearing around the corner.

When she was alone, Michonne's smile faded, and she lapsed into dark memories of her old life. Specifically, the memory of making the _hardest decision_ of her life, when she realized she was pregnant with Andre. Sasha was right. Nothing was worth even the slightest risk that she could end up back there, with a man like Negan.

Michonne had felt a cosmic pull toward Negan when she first met him, too. He was so charming, so handsome, and so sweet on her in the beginning. But almost as soon as she gave in to his charms and started dating him, he turned into someone else entirely. He was cruel, unstable, and terrifying.

He was also very criminal, very rich, and very powerful. He owned her, and so for years she was at his mercy. He claimed to love her, but all he loved was seeing her suffer. She was trapped, unable to do anything but take it, fearing for her life and the lives of those she loved.

Michonne hadn't simply broken up with Negan. She had finally escaped him.

It was only the knowledge that he was behind bars, worlds away, that allowed her to sleep at night.

Still, she stayed prepared to run. Because if he ever got out...if he ever found her...she was dead.

* * *

"Um...I-I don't know, Rick…"

"I only need a couple hours, tops. No one's gonna notice me, I promise." He pressed.

Rick watched the soft-spoken blonde's pale blue eyes falter under his gaze as a pink flush rose to the surface of her cheeks. Deputy Jessie Anderson was the precinct's archives clerk on the weekends. This was where they kept sealed off evidence for closed and unsolved cases going back half a century. It just so happened that Rick had known Jessie since she was a kid back in King's County. Sometimes it was nice talking to her. Sometimes talking to her almost felt like being back home, being his old self, before his life crumbled to shit. And then sometimes it made him ache for his wife and son.

Jessie leaned forward and lowered her voice even further, the blush in her cheeks deepening as she avoided eye contact. "It's just that the captain knows you've been here before and he says if anyone's caught helping you it's an automatic suspension. I have two sons to raise, you know?"

Rick sighed hard against the glass of her bullet-proof cubicle window, unleashing the full power of his intense gaze on her. Jessie's heart was beating hard in her chest; he could see the fluttering of the veins along her collarbone. "I'm tryin' to bring a girl home to her family, Jessie. The captain pretty much considers the case closed anyway, it's not like I'm interferin' with an investigation." He shrugged, stretching his logic a little. Whatever it took.

Jessie sighed and nodded. "Okay...I'll give you the name. Just promise me you _won't get caught._ "

She'd always felt sorry for him. She thought he had gotten a bad break back in King's County. No one deserved what happened to him, or to his family. Maybe he had changed a little because of it, but she knew that deep down Rick Grimes was still a good man. He just happened to have been through a very, very bad time. She sometimes wished she could let him know exactly how much she sympathized with him. But all she could do was help him out with a case every now and then. She kept telling herself she would stop it - she was risking her job. She had escaped a toxic marriage and she had two boys to raise by herself. She couldn't afford to be sticking her neck out. But Rick Grimes wasn't just any guy. Guys like him, though misunderstood, had it right. They did whatever it took to get justice for people everyone else ignored. She admired that about him. So she was going to help him, of course.

It was just a name.

It was an alias that some journalists used when they signed in to interview cops willing to talk about cases or stories anonymously. It changed every day and you had to be given the name by a cop, but everyone knew if you signed it, you weren't really there. All Jessie had to do was let Rick sign in under that name, and he could gain access to evidence, case files, precinct records, and in some cases interview cops willing to talk about a case.

Just as long as he didn't get caught by any cops who knew that he wasn't an undercover journalist. He had left his gun in his car, not wishing to enter the police archives armed, even though he had a license to carry - he used to be a cop, after all. Cops get anxious around guns on anyone but them. He was an exile, someone who sold his soul for what they deemed shitty P.I. work. A leech, a scrub, a washout. Needless to say, most cops didn't like guys like him these days. Especially not these young city cops. They treated him like an omen or an urban legend. He didn't want to give them any reason to give him a hard time. He didn't want to get Jessie in trouble.

"Thank you, Jessie." He nodded appreciatively at her and she rolled her eyes, waving him off.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Mario Sanchez."

Rick raised his eyebrows and chuckled as he haphazardly signed the name on the visitor's log with the chained police station pen. "Mario Sanchez? Very realistic."

Jessie tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She always got them whenever Rick smiled. It was a rare occurrence, but it made him look so gorgeous. She took the clipboard from him through the slot in her window and buzzed him in, lowering her gaze for fear that he would make her blush again. She watched him enter and stride down the hallway confidently. He was something else.

Rick headed straight for the physical evidence archives, searching for Amy's case by its number from the files her sister Andrea had provided him. He finally found it in the middle of a huge stack of boxes in the back corner of a maze of shelves. He had to be careful pulling down the two boxes of physical evidence from the pile, or the whole thing would come tumbling down on top of him.

He managed to slip into a closed viewing room someone was just walking out of, moving quickly and with laser focus. He needed to examine the evidence up close, for himself. Then he could move on to the surveillance footage from the road that night. The footage had failed to lead the guys on the case to locating the second vehicle, but Rick had that strange tug in his stomach again. Some veteran cop would call it a hunch. Rick just followed it without feeling the need to label it.

Taking a deep breath in the small, silent room, Rick picked one of the boxes up from the floor and sat it down on top of the table under the harsh overhead light. This box contained envelopes full of photographs from the crime scene and a copy of the report the first responder filed upon submitting them to evidence storage.

Rick opened the folders one by one, looking through the photographs, taking pictures of the ones that stood out to him. The first batch was of the car. Bullet holes lined the driver's side of the car, about waist high on anyone sitting inside. The back window had been shot out as well. There was blood on the inside, on the side of the driver's seat, and splatters on the passenger seat next to her purse.

Another batch of photos showed the skid marks of both vehicles along the side road leading away from the gas station toward an exit for the highway. Amy's car had swerved off the road about a mile from that exit. Her kidnapper had taken her from her vehicle wounded, according to the photographs of the driver's seat and the drops of blood leading from there to the road.

A terrible feeling settled over him as he examined the photographs.

This wasn't your typical kidnapping. Whoever did this was bold, arrogant, and angry. Rick could sense it, and read it all over the methods here. "You ran her off the road…" the ex cop muttered to himself, examining the shattered tail light and the streaks of dark paint where the kidnapper's vehicle had side-swiped her. "You shoot at her, wound her. Out in the open where anyone could catch you…?"

This was definitely not traffickers. Traffickers were far more cautious than that. They were tricksters, they lured girls into carefully-plotted traps. They were snakes, not showoffs. And for another thing, traffickers could do nothing with wounded goods. Whoever took Amy, he did it in the loudest, angriest way possible. He got off on the hunt, on scaring his prey. Rick was sure of it.

Why had they given up on her case? He was starting to think maybe Andrea wasn't as paranoid as he'd originally concluded.

Rick put aside the box of photos and swapped it out on the table with the other box, that gut feeling coming over him again. This next box contained bagged physical evidence lifted from the scene. There were three bags. One contained Amy's purse, which had been left in the car right next to her when she was taken.

The other bag contained a phone, identified as the victim's, which had been found in her purse, along with her credit card, identification, driver's license, makeup, and other personal items. All still there in the car when it was found. The last bagged item was her right shoe, found right next to the car. It was a pink Converse sneaker. It was missing its shoelace.

Rick gloved himself and took photos of it all before quickly bagging it and boxing it again. He slipped out of the examination room and returned the evidence boxes to their dusty corner pile. Then he headed for the video archives. They were sealed separately. Rick had to be more careful. There were more cops moving around in here. He took it slow, moving between the shelves cautiously, watching out for anyone who might be coming his way.

He finally found her case, and swiped the videotape from its box. He retreated to a viewing stall at the very back of the room. Rick watched the footage from state traffic cameras set up along the road where Amy disappeared.

The grainy black and white footage showed her car flying down the road, being pursued by what had been described in the case file as a large, dark colored SUV. One camera picked up the flash of gunfire.

None of the cameras managed to catch a clear visual of either of the drivers. They were both nothing but shadows flying by, swerving, dancing. She had been driven off the road far from any traffic cameras, with a mile at least to go before she reached the highway.

That was all there was to it. No one found her car until daylight, and by that time her kidnapper was long gone, and Amy with him. All that was left was her car and the evidence inside it.

Rick rewound the tape several times and watched it carefully. He paused to study each angle, staring at the dark truck, trying to catalog its shape. It was a behemoth. It went by fast and was mostly in shadow, but he searched for the right moment and paused the video. There. The case file said that there had been no black SUVs reported missing at the time. Anyone who owned one that fit the description had been ruled out for possible suspects. Rick looked closer and realized that this wasn't an SUV. It was a utility truck. He thought he could definitely make out that the bed was covered. Something these city cops seemed to miss. It was odd that they missed this.

The photos of the tire marks made them look slightly bigger than your average SUV tire as well. This wasn't a city truck. This was a truck a man used for hunting, hauling.

Rick turned his attention to the license plates captured on the paused footage. He jotted the number down on the back of one of his business cards and stopped the video.

He managed to get the tape back into its evidence box and slip quietly back out into the main hallway, his mind buzzing. He needed to figure out who those plates belonged to. He also felt compelled to examine Amy's car himself. He didn't know what he would learn that he hadn't already seen in the evidence room, but he had to go.

Rick made it back out to Jessie's station without running into anyone that recognized him or called him out. He managed to keep out of sight mostly, keeping his promise to her. Now maybe she would be willing to do him one more favor.

He knocked on the bulletproof glass and she looked up from her magazine. "Hey. No one saw me."

"Congratulations," she smiled at him before buzzing him through again.

Rick walked up to her window and slipped the business card with the plate number on it through the slot where she'd handed him the clipboard earlier. "Hear me out," he started as she sighed hard, already shaking her head at him.

"Rick…come on…"

"This is just my business card. All I need is to know where that plate number is from. Just an address, Jessie. I'd appreciate it."

He knew she would have to think about it. She was a good kid, and she was really sticking her neck out for him. He couldn't sweet talk her into risking her job forever. And he didn't want to. But right now he had no choice. He always used to leave the flirting to Shane and concentrated on the actual police work. But he hadn't spoken to Shane in over a year.

A shadow fell across Rick's mood, thinking of his former best friend and partner. "Thanks again," he ended his exchange with Jessie, rapping his knuckles on the counter and turning to leave.

Amy's car was at a city-owned lot across town. Rick bribed the guy on duty to give him twenty minutes when he got there. Soon he found himself walking through rows and rows of cars in the middle of the harsh Atlanta heat. Finally he spotted her Ford Fiesta at the end of a row, between two cars that looked like they'd both been in nasty accidents.

He put on some disposable gloves (he always carried them in his back pocket when he was on a case) and started to examine the vehicle. First, Rick stood by the driver's side of the car, his eyes taking in the sight of the back window frame, where bullets had shattered a huge hole in it, pretty much knocking it out. He swallowed and slowly knelt down, looking over the trail of bullet holes along the side from the back seat to the driver's side. Rick leaned in close, squinting in the harsh sunlight, and studied the bullet holes carefully.

There was something odd about them. He reached out and ran his fingers over them. For one thing, the shape of them was strange. The way the metal was punctured seemed hyper incendiary, creating a jagged anomaly in the shape of the bullet holes.

For another, they stopped abruptly when they reached the driver's seat - right where Amy's torso would be, maybe. The bullets were all mostly concentrated in the back area of the car, except for that one bullet that hit Amy.

"You didn't mean to shoot her…" He muttered to himself.

 _I didn't mean to shoot him!_

Rick gasped, hearing a voice in his head out of nowhere. He blinked hard, rearing his hand back as though the bullet holes had stung him. It was Dwight Warren's voice, from that day in the interrogation room, right after they caught him. Why was he hearing the voice of the man that killed his family? He shouldn't be. He _couldn't_ be.

Rick swallowed hard and stood up. He turned around in a circle, running his hand over his chin, trying to shake off his encroaching headache. _You're not gonna do this, Rick. Not_ _ **now**_ _. Not on a case._ _ **Don't**_ _go there_...he commanded himself. He had known, deep down inside, that the similarities between this case and the one that killed his family would start to intrude on him the moment Andrea started telling the story. But he accepted the case anyway.

This wasn't why he'd accepted it. Not this. This was a goddamned shitty ass side effect. There was something _else_ here, something he had to find. He had to focus. Dwight Warren was behind bars and Amy Jones was still missing. He couldn't start losing his mind right now. His gut was telling him - he _needed_ to be on this case. He had to just get on with it.

Rick closed his eyes and counted to ten. He listened to the silence surrounding him in the deserted lot. He was the only one there. Finally calm again, he opened his eyes and stepped forward, opening the driver's side door of Amy's car.

Rick leaned in, observing the blood stains in the fabric of the seat. He frowned when he noticed the seat was slightly reclined. Thinking back, it had been that way in the photos, too. "You tied her up in here before you took her..." he muttered, his eyes sweeping the front seat. He knew he had wounded her, and he took her anyway. Why not just leave her for dead? Something didn't add up.

This left him with more questions than answers. It should've been the same for the local police. And yet her case was languishing in purgatory. Rick closed the driver's side door and took photos of the bullet holes up close. He walked around the vehicle slowly, examining each and every scratch and scrape. Some black paint had rubbed off on the back end by the busted tail light. He could see where samples had been collected for the forensic evidence. Another potential lead to follow up on, see if these city cops had messed it up, too.

Rick fished his cell phone out of his back pocket and opened his notes app. He wrote down ' _bullets to gun'_ and ' _plates or paint to truck owner'_ , then closed the app and put his phone back.

The ex sheriff's deputy took one last look at Amy's car, growing more and more curious about her disappearance with each step he retraced from that night. He turned and weaved through the rows of discarded vehicles, making his way back to the main office for the lot.

Once he was in his own car, Rick sat in his driver's seat, thinking. He couldn't stop the memory from replaying for him of its own will. The memory of himself watching Dwight Warren's confession from behind a two way mirror at the King's County Sheriff's Department. Wanting so badly to break through it and beat him to death. He'd only intended to wound Lori, that murdering little shit had sniveled at the time. He hadn't seen Carl in the back seat leaning over to get a comic book from his backpack, that fucker had claimed to save his own ass.

 _I didn't mean to shoot him!_

But he did. He shot Carl through the eye, killing him.

Rick crushed his eyes shut, squeezing the steering wheel. He couldn't think about this now. Thoughts like these sent overwhelming grief rushing toward him. Counting to ten again, breathing in and out, he calmed himself down and started up his Bronco.

It was a little past six in the evening. The sun was setting, casting shadows everywhere, causing streaks of vibrant reds, oranges, and purples to disrupt the grey evening gloom. He had spent the day retracing the steps of the police investigation, with a few stops for coffee and food and a chance to gather his thoughts. Tomorrow he would follow up on his own leads.

But through it all, his neighbor Michonne stayed hovering in his periphery. Mainly, an idea had been forming in the back of his mind all day, one that was getting harder and harder to forget about, especially since he knew that her working the morning shift meant she'd likely be getting out around this time. He also knew there was a bus stop for routes coming in from surrounding boroughs right in front of the hospital.

As Rick drove through the streets of Atlanta, his mind lingered on Michonne. He wanted to see her again, badly. He wanted to talk to her for longer than a minute or two. He had held back from offering her a ride this morning, but the more he thought about it, the more he regretted it.

He allowed himself to entertain the notion of drifting in Michonne's direction, asking himself what he actually planned to do when he got there. He might just sit in the car and watch her like a creep. Or he might actually open his mouth. Do what he'd wanted to do this morning.

Just like that, he found himself driving straight for Grady Memorial hospital.

* * *

 _...written to the musical score of…_

' _Poor Night', by Coma_

* * *

"One more round, come on." Abraham grinned over the nurses' station counter at Michonne, his handlebar mustache spreading wide across his freckled face. "The first two were test runs. I'm all warmed up now."

Michonne shrugged, amused. She stuck her hand in his and they began the Thumb War dance. And yet again, Michonne beat him, her long, slender fingers outwitting his thick, coarse ones. His thumb might have been stronger, but hers was more cunning.

Abe banged his fist on the counter, stumped. " _Damn_ , woman. How are you doin' that?"

"You're just a sore loser, honey." Sasha appeared, changed out of her paramedic gear. She stood up on her tiptoes and craned her neck upward to give him a peck on the lips. "Take it like a man and let's get something to eat - I'm starving."

Abraham turned as soft as dough, smiling with love in his eyes as Sasha kissed him on the cheek before lowering herself flat on her feet again. "What are you hungry for, sweetheart?" He asked, forgetting about his losing streak.

She shrugged, tugging on his jacket. "Doesn't matter. I _know_ you wanna go back to that Creole place."

"Mmm...crawfish…" Abe rumbled reverently. Sasha laughed and kissed him again.

Michonne sighed enviously. Unlike her, they'd both been on time for their morning shifts, so they were going home. Michonne had agreed to let Maggie go home early and take over her patients for an extra hour because she overslept. She wished she could be headed toward a plate full of crawfish right now. "Get outta here, would you guys? You're making me hungry."

Sasha laughed and ran around the counter to attack Michonne with a hug. "Listen - I'm sorry I was such a granny this morning." She lingered, resting her chin on Michonne's shoulder as she hugged her from behind. Michonne held onto Sasha's arms and looked up at her from her sitting position. Abraham occupied himself so they could talk. "I know you can take care of yourself. But I'm here if you need me, okay 'Chonne?"

"I know. Thanks, Sash." They squeezed each other affectionately and Sasha let her go, jogging back around the counter to take Abe's hand so they could leave. "Goodnight, guys."

"'Night, darlin'. Give Andre a fist bump for me." Abe tossed over his shoulder.

Michonne chuckled, watching them walk out of the ER hand-in-hand. She fought off another wave of envy, this time for the sight of two people so perfectly opposite, and yet so perfectly matched.

She wasn't typically the jealous type. Michonne had always been of the mind that when she wanted something, she would go after it, eventually having it. It was one of the things she thought she had in common with Negan when they first met. He fed the ambition in her in ways she'd never imagined. But she was young, and even though she thought she knew it all at the time, she'd been incredibly naive.

Having everything she wanted wasn't always a good thing.

Sometimes Michonne wanted things that turned out to be dangerously addictive. Especially when it came to love. When she first fell for Negan, she would've done anything he asked. Because when Michonne loved, she loved _hard_.

She spent the rest of her shift reassuring herself that she wasn't as lonely as she felt. That she didn't need anyone. Sex was one thing, but being in love had given her nothing but scars. As she was giving the report to her relieving nurse during the shift change, Michonne made up her mind that she was going to focus on spending the rest of the summer with Andre.

That little boy was her joy, and she couldn't wait to have him around for the next few weeks. They could go to the new space/science museum, maybe rent a car and go to an amusement park, or just hang out at home and play video games all day. Whatever he wanted. She was so excited to see him.

Michonne said good evening to everyone and walked out of Grady Memorial, into the humid dusk. The lights of the city were starting to come alive, burning in the distance as she made it to the curb and pressed the 'WALK' button so she could cross the street. As she waited, she took off her head wrap and stuck it in her purse, then unraveled her dreads so they fell down around her shoulders, hoping to catch a slight breeze through them. She loved this time of night in the summer. The humidity felt electric - buzzing and humming against her skin. It made her nipples tingle and her tender sex quake with longing. For anything. A good time. A good cry. A good fuck. A good adventure.

When she was younger, she'd be crawling up the walls at this time of night, anxious to get out into the city. Now she planned to get her ass on the bus home, eat some leftovers, and drink some wine with a good book in her backyard.

She had reached the other side, and was heading for the bus stop, when she happened to look up and notice him standing there. Watching her.

Her neighbor Rick.

Her sex quaked again, witnessing the captivating gleam in his prismatic blue eyes. He was standing in front of his Bronco, still armed, his sleeves still rolled up. If it were possible, he looked even more handsome in the twilight than he did in the sun. Especially his eyes. Michonne slowed her steps and he shifted on his feet, leaning slightly to the side as he watched her gradually come to a halt in front of him. He had parked in the lot near the bus stop and waited for her to come out. He licked his lips, gesturing to the hospital behind her in the distance. "I was drivin' by. Thought I'd see if you'd like a ride home."

She hesitated, gazing at him with curiosity shining in her dark eyes. Rick's heart was pounding, silently hoping that she would say yes.

Michonne's heart was pounding, too. He seemed nothing but earnest, but there was still that silent energy wafting off of him, pulling at her. She wanted to say yes, but she had to ask: "How'd you know this was my hospital?"

He shrugged and lifted his chin in the direction of her bus stop a few feet away. "That's the bus line you took this mornin'."

"You're pretty observant," she teased, not letting him off the hook. "And sweet."

Rick tilted his head at her, not sure if she was calling him out or flirting with him. Or both. He felt both nervous and exhilarated, trying to figure her out. Jesus, this was only a few words in, and already his body was starting to respond to her proximity alone. She was teasing him (which he found immensely adorable and attractive), but he was quite serious.

"Would you?" He found himself asking again, keeping his eyes trained on hers. "Like a ride?"

She had already known she was going to say yes the moment he opened his mouth. She would be fooling no one if she tried to pretend otherwise. Clinging to her purse straps, feeling that slow, intense pull towards him that she'd felt this morning and every other time she saw him, Michonne nodded.

"Sure. Thanks."

Rick watched her coming for a moment before moving to the passenger side and opening the door for her. She looked tired, but she was glowing from the humidity. Those tantalizing lips and the curves of her cheekbones were gonna be the death of him. Her uniform covered her up pretty well, but her curves fought against it. She had taken her hair down, and it was falling in her eyes. She ran a hand through it to remove it from her face as she walked toward him, breaking eye contact to get a look at his truck.

The jet black Bronco was at least twenty years old, but it was well cared for. It suited him perfectly. She climbed inside, again feeling his eyes on her as she passed him. The brown leather seats were worn in, but kinda soft and comfortable. She settled down inside the truck as he closed the door for her and sauntered around the front to climb into the driver's side.

She watched his every move as she buckled herself in. There was no turning back, now. She was finally going to settle her curiosity about the unfairly sexy man next door.

Rick got back into the car, closed the door, and started the engine. Michonne felt it vibrating through her toes and between her legs as the truck rolled smoothly out of the parking lot and into the streets. Soon they were flying steadily through the city toward the outer boroughs, and home. His windows were cracked and he was a smooth, fast driver, so the breeze was steady and cool. It licked at her face and neck, slipping through her locs, making her nipples tingle and her heartbeat quicken.

Rick tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he was quite acutely aware of her lean, yet curvy body sitting next to him in his truck as he navigated the traffic. He could feel her body heat, outlining her slender shape that molded to his leather seats. He never thought he'd get her this close to him. It excited and aroused him. He wanted this ride to last as long as it could. Without thinking, he found himself taking a creative, scenic route through the streets of Atlanta toward the expressway.

Michonne acted on instinct and leaned forward to turn on his radio, glancing over at him to ascertain whether he minded. He shook his head, momentarily distracted by her soft smile and the wind in her hair as the setting sun cast gorgeous shadows across her smooth skin. Rick had to force his eyes back on the road as she found one of her favorite radio stations. A steady, melodic electronic song filled the cabin of his truck. She turned it down just low enough so that all they could really hear was the bass and synth chords, mingling together in a hypnotising rhythm. She leaned back in her seat and angled her body so that she was watching the lights of passing cars roll across his handsome, chiseled face.

"So can I ask you a question, Rick?"

She saw that slow grin of his appear again, unfolding across his jaw in the shadows of the rapidly darkening horizon. "Somethin' tells me I don't have a choice."

Michonne bit her lip, intrigued by him. She loved the way he talked. The very specific way he drew out certain words and dropped his g's. His voice was deep, yet soft. She let her question slip out, deciding to just go for it instead of thinking about it too much. "What's with the gun? What are you? A cop?"

He chuckled, and she smiled brightly in return. She liked to make him laugh, she was discovering. He seemed so serious every time she saw him, it was nice to see that wasn't his only mood. But she did really want to know. Rick shook his head at her, slowing down to stop at a red light.

"Not anymore," he drawled, letting his eyes drift over to hers. He was amused and thrilled by her curiosity. He hadn't expected her to warm up to him so quickly.

"Well, what _do_ you do?" she pressed, her heart fluttering.

"I'm a hired investigator," Rick answered, looking darkly sexy under the red tint of the traffic light. "I run a private practice here in Atlanta. The gun's legit, don't worry."

Michonne raised her eyebrows, impressed. "It's pretty old school. I like it."

Rick glanced over at her in surprise, his eyes roaming the smooth planes of her face before he had to turn his attention back to the road again. The light changed and he got them moving, the breeze picking up once more through the open windows.

"I was an army kid. My dad taught me how to shoot when I was twelve." She explained, admiring the big, sexy pistol tucked into a brown leather holster under his toned arm. "So...what kind of work do you get? Cheating husbands and stuff?"

"Missing persons cases, mostly," he answered, his eyes flickering at her for her reaction. "Kidnappings. Young women endin' up sold into prostitution."

Michonne was stunned, but then she became captivated. No wonder his aura was so melancholy. The things he must have seen. "Wow. That sounds dangerous." She breathed, her lips parted. The lights of the passing cars shot across his face every now and then as she gazed over at him.

Rick thought about some of the deeds he'd found himself carrying out when he started doing this kind of work. He nodded, swallowing down the memories. He had made peace with them. "Yeah. It can be."

She tried to find a bright side. "Well, have you saved any of them?"

The ruggedly handsome detective tightened his grip on the wheel, thinking about the failures that drove him into this kind of work. He sighed. "I've lost more than I've saved…"

"I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say to that. She slowly turned to face forward again, watching the passing scenery. They were passing through downtown Atlanta now. She gazed at the lights of the Centennial Olympic Park fountain, the one with the huge rings of dancing water. Andre used to love going to the fountain. Sabine always sent Michonne pictures of him playing in front of it when he was a child.

She felt for those girls, the ones Rick couldn't save, whoever they were. She knew what it was like to be terrified that you'd never escape someone alive. But unlike them, she _had_ escaped with her life. She was free, and she still had her son.

Finally, they reached the expressway. He eased the Bronco onto it, headed for Reece Park.

Rick hadn't meant for things to turn somber. He didn't want to talk about his dark world. He wanted to see her smile. He glanced over at her a few times, admiring her silhouette - the fullness of her lips, her regal chin, her elegant neck - wanting to lighten the mood again.

"Can _I_ ask _you_ somethin'?" He drawled, focusing on the road again.

Michonne looked over at the cut of his neck and fuzzy jaw as he spoke, mesmerized by his lips. She nodded. "Shoot."

Those shiny blues darted over to her again and he grinned. "Is it hard bein' a nurse? What with your aversion to the 'gross stuff'?"

She blinked at him, a scandalized smile spreading across her face as she realized that _he_ was doing the teasing now. When he bit his lip to suppress another smartass grin, she had to fight hard against a desire to ask him to pull over so she could climb onto his lap and fuck him, right there on the side of the road.

"Fine, you got me." She admitted, her smooth voice sending an intense flutter of arousal through his abdomen into his groin. "I was just looking for an excuse to invite you over."

The pulsing beat of the low music continued in the background as Rick took his eyes off the road again.

They stared at each other, sparks flying around in the atmosphere as they flew down the expressway. Rick swallowed hard and adjusted himself in his seat, tearing his eyes away from her gorgeous face so he could focus on not running off the road. He wanted to pull over, flip her over, and eat her out until she screamed and came all over his face - but he just kept driving.

Finally, he pulled off at their exit, jetting them through the small suburb of Reece Park, turning his truck toward the base of their little hill.

Rick drove them up the hill, along their street, and eased into his driveway. He came to a stop and turned off the engine, engulfing the truck in silence. To keep himself from invading her personal space, he climbed out of the Bronco and walked around to open the door for her.

Michonne took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. She was so attracted to this man. She didn't understand why. She barely knew him, but that didn't seem to matter one little bit. He got her door open and she climbed out, turning to face him as he closed it securely shut behind her.

"Thanks for the ride, Rick…" she offered softly, gazing up into his eyes.

He shifted on his feet and nodded. "Any time, Michonne."

"So why don't you?" She blurted before she could stop herself.

"Why don't I what?" he drawled, tilting his head at her, his radiant eyes flickering across her face.

Michonne smiled softly up at him, shrugging. "Come over? For dinner one night? I'll cook for you." She dared to take a tiny step toward him, pulled by the intensity of his expression and his stoic energy. She loved the way he stood. He sort of settled himself into the ground on his boots, leaning against the air. "When's the last time you had a home cooked meal, anyway?"

Rick gazed down at her beautiful face in the dim evening light, utterly captivated by her. "I guess it's been a while," was all he could say, his gravelly voice low and thick.

"Good. Dinner at my place soon." She was getting lost in his eyes. "I hope you don't mind my nosey nine-and-a-half-year-old asking you a million questions about your favorite video games," she had to add, remembering that Andre was coming to stay with her for the rest of the summer tomorrow.

Rick shook his head with a slow grin. "As long as he's a fan of ' _Call of Duty'_ , we'll get along fine."

He was glad to get her laughing again. "Oh he's more than a fan," she assured him, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling. "He'll kick your ass!"

Her handsome neighbor nodded, studying her, enjoying every minute of her company she would allow him. "I guess it's a date, then."

She realized then that yes - she had essentially just asked him on a date. And she was glad she did. She liked him. A lot. "It's definitely a date." They stared at each other in the gloom, the sounds of crickets and the twinkling illumination of fireflies surrounding them. Suddenly the street lamps flickered to life, casting pale golden light across their lawns, breaking the spell. Michonne took a shaky breath and stepped back, running a hand through her locs as she started backing down his driveway. "Goodnight, Rick."

"Goodnight, Michonne."

Finally she was able to pull her eyes off of him and turn around, heading across her own yard to her house.

* * *

Michonne wandered up to her front door, unable to believe herself for what she'd just done. One look at him, and she had forgotten all about her promise to herself to leave him alone.

But she also knew herself well enough to know that she shouldn't be surprised. She was undeniably attracted to Rick. It wasn't just the way he carried himself. It was the way he looked at her. As though he was holding something back. Something just for her. Something she just couldn't seem to resist needing to discover.

She replayed the car ride in her head as she let herself into her house and locked the door behind her. She turned on the hall lights and wandered into her kitchen, thinking about Rick.

Thinking about his lips, so soft and delicious looking, turning up slowly into one of those crooked grins of his. His strong, elegant looking hands gripping the steering wheel. She wanted him to grip her ass like that with those hands.

She was in trouble.

Michonne dumped her purse and keys onto her kitchen island and turned around to lean against it, staring down at her shoes. She intended to focus on her son for the rest of the summer, there was no way she could follow her lonely labido down a rabbit hole.

Sabine would crucify her, and she couldn't just bring just anyone around Andre.

She just had this feeling about Rick. She didn't know how else to justify it to herself.

She sighed as her mind returned to the magnetic pull she felt whenever she was around him. The look in his eyes whenever they met hers. Michonne ran a hand through her locs and stalked to her wine cabinet. Yeah, she was definitely in trouble. She felt a plump, furry little body writhing around her feet, and she looked down to see Hercules saying hello. "Hey, mister." She greeted, letting him rub against her calf as she reached down to scratch his arching back. "Long day, huh? Me too. It's time for some wine."

She retrieved her favorite Argentinian Malbec and poured herself a big glass once she got it open, giving it a swirl and taking a long swallow. Michonne stepped out of her shoes and took off her pants, leaving both right there on the floor in the kitchen. She'd get them later.

She was walking back through to the hall, headed for her alarm, when she froze.

She'd forgotten to set her alarm this morning. She'd been so late and hungover that she hadn't even thought about it. And just now, she was so distracted mulling over how attracted she was to her neighbor that she had failed to remember it again. "Get a grip, Michonne," she hissed at herself under her breath, rolling her eyes and making her way to the wall where the alarm was mounted.

She set it by stabbing in the numbers irritably and waiting for the beep. Because of Hercules, she couldn't have motion sensors inside but her windows and doors had trip alarms.

Speaking of the furry little devil, Hercules mewled from the hallway behind her. He liked to sit on the floor by the tub while she took a hot bath and drank her wine. She was holding things up, apparently.

Michonne took another sip of wine as she climbed up the stairs in her hallway, pantless.

She made it down the hall to her bedroom, Hercules trotting after her the entire way, his fat, furry tail swishing this way and that. The slender, long-legged beauty set her wine down on her dresser and walked across her room to turn on the lamp in the corner by the window.

She couldn't help glancing out of it, up at his house. She wondered if he was thinking about her right now. She wondered...if he was watching her. Michonne let her mind wander, picturing Rick standing in front of one of those second floor windows she could barely make out against the reflection of herself in the glass.

She began to undress.

She was looking forward to sitting in the tub of hot water. She knew that if she drank enough wine she'd get tipsy...and then she'd fantasize about Rick while she touched herself. As she pulled the shirt from her scrubs over her head and tossed it aside, Michonne made up her mind that she could just have tonight to think about him. Then tomorrow she'd have to prepare for her son to arrive, and she would need to put him out of her mind for a little while.

Michonne took off her bra, not turning from the window, now lost in thought - allowing herself to picture Rick grinding against her. What his dick would feel like in her hand. Taste like in her mouth. Was he an aggressive lover or a shy, sweet lover that she'd have to turn out? Just thinking about it made her wet.

Hercules meowed again, making a little fuss from her bed, but she paid him no attention as she started to slip her panties down. It was then that the hairs on the back of her neck and arms began to stand on end...then that she noticed the air around her shift and sway...then when she felt a _presence_ in the room with her.

And the hardwood creaked with footsteps, and Michonne's heart leapt into her throat as she turned to discover a strange man dressed in all back standing in her closet doorway.


	4. the right questions

_...written to the musical score of…_

' _Yes (Symmetry Remix)', by Chromatics_

* * *

Rick stood in his driveway, trying to recover from Michonne. And failing spectacularly.

His breath was shallow and his dick was hard, straining for freedom and getting harder by the second. He kept picturing her beautiful smile in the light of the street lamps. The entire time she spoke to him out here on the concrete, he fought with himself. The sound of crickets offered a faint chorus as she invited him for dinner and he tried one more time to make her laugh. He had wanted to press her against the side of his truck, lean into her - close. Kiss her slowly. Let her feel how much he wanted her. How much power she held over him.

But he had simply stood there, studying her. He couldn't keep his eyes from roaming, taking in the curve of her lips, the slope of her neck, listening to her smooth voice. The shape of her body, discernable even through her uniform, was perfect. She was lean, curvy, and graceful. Her ass was amazing. Rick shifted on his feet, backing up slowly, staring after her in the dark. He watched her go, then listened out for her until she got about halfway across the yard. He finally had to snap himself out of it.

As he sauntered up his front walkway, he gripped his keys hard in his palm to try and stave off the steadily intensifying erection in his snug jeans. He wondered what _she_ would feel like in his grip. Her thighs. Her ass. Her breasts. He wanted to touch and squeeze every inch of her. He wanted to open her up and see what she tasted like, too. Judging by the pleasant smell of coconut and something earthy and sweet that he couldn't place...this line of thinking was not helping.

Rick sighed roughly and got his front door open. Once inside he locked it harshly, distracted and frustrated with himself. He had told himself he wasn't going to watch her if he could get her to ride with him tonight. But as Rick tossed his keys and walked through his dark house, he knew that he would.

He had to.

The haunted former cop made it into his kitchen, opened his fridge, and grabbed a beer this time. He needed to relax from the day, but he didn't need to induce a coma tonight. As he got the bottle open and made his way upstairs, his mind wandered toward tasting Michonne again. His dick was still hard as he thought about spreading her legs and settling in. The sheer thought of burying his face between her legs (smelling her and getting her all over his tongue and lips and chin) produced a hunger in him that was almost overpowering. Nah, his hardon wasn't going _anywhere_. He picked up his pace as he made it up to his bedroom.

Rick took a drag of his beer and sat it down on the table by the window. The ice cold, frothy liquid felt good going down his throat and settling in his belly in this Georgia heat. He removed his denim button down and tossed it across the chair at the table, untucking his white undershirt. Feeling better, he reached for his cigarettes and opened his blinds just enough to see without being seen. He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and looked down at Michonne's house. Her kitchen light was on, her practically sheer curtains revealing her to him, shimmying out of her pants in front of her big kitchen island.

 _Goddamn._

Rick exhaled cigarette smoke through his nostrils, squinting down at her as she poured her usual glass of red wine. He raised a hand to lean against the window frame, the cigarette dangling from his lip, transfixed by her body. His cock twitched watching her, but he forced himself to just stand there instead of doing something about it.

He tried to focus, distracted by the cigarette. He took a second and final drag, put it out, and watched Michonne walk around in nothing but her top and some little black panties. She looked distracted, too. He wondered if she was thinking about him. She had invited him over for dinner. She had no idea how badly he wanted her, but maybe she wanted him, too. He was going to find out. He was determined.

He followed her with his eyes, intensely concentrating on the grace to her steps, the shapeliness of her legs and the brief little glimpses he got of her gorgeous ass from under her uniform top. Her cat followed her out of sight, where he knew she was going upstairs. He waited, his eyes rising to her bedroom window in anticipation.

He was immediately struck by the sight of something that sent alarm bells dinging around in his head.

A shadow, moving quickly across the dark room. Rick leaned in close to his window, gripping the wooden frame, his heart pounding, his focus now razor sharp. Her closet doors opened slowly and the shadow disappeared inside it. They closed again slowly. Rick forgot about his erection as white hot alarm flooded over him from head to foot, making the hairs on his skin stand on end and his temples pulse. He clenched his jaw, his heart racing, and saw Michonne enter her bedroom.

There was someone in there with her.

He wasn't seeing things. Was he? He hadn't felt it coming on. He wasn't having headaches or dark thoughts. Being with Michonne had driven all of that away. _There was someone in there._ Rick watched Michonne take off her shirt and walk toward her window. The closet doors remained closed behind her as she turned on the lamp. She looked up as she started to remove her bra. She was looking right up at his window. But he could tell she couldn't see him.

She had no idea. She was in danger.

Rick backed up without another thought, turned, and bolted for his door. He grabbed his gun from its holster, removed the safety, and tucked it in the back of his jeans as he went.

He didn't bother to close his front door as he ran in long, nimble strides down his driveway, around his fence, and along the side of her house. _Fuck! Hold on, Michonne!_ Rick thought as he ran, intent on reaching her as fast as he could, however he had to get there. His heart still racing, anger and fear sending adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, he darted through the darkness, raising his eyes to her window every other second. At first he could only see her light glowing down at him from this vantage point, but then he saw shadows moving across it. Rick doubled down, his boots hitting the ground faster now. He got her fence open and wheeled around the house, stalking warily toward her patio doors.

He had to be careful. He had to be quick.

Taking a deep breath, Rick searched hurriedly around the yard, trying to find something to break one of the glass doors. His movement triggered the lights. He looked down at her patio door and got a hunch. Rick abandoned his plan to break in and simply tried it. It opened easily, and her alarm went off.

Probably how whoever the fuck that was upstairs with Michonne got inside. Except that time the entrance hadn't triggered the alarm.

Rick wasted no time getting it open and slipping through it, pulling his Python from his jeans. He ignored the blaring siren of the alarm as he stalked through the house quickly, alert around every corner in case there were more of them lurking around. The alarm didn't seem to be driving any surprise intruders out. _He had to get to Michonne._ He heard the noises when he reached the stairs. Loud thumps and bangs, like furniture moving around.

Then Michonne's muffled scream. Rick bolted up the stairs, his gun drawn, a red veil of fury falling across his vision.

* * *

Michonne froze where she stood.

The stranger just stood there at first, breathing, watching her. He was wearing a black ski mask; his hateful eyes shown across at her as clear as day. He leered at her, and she saw he was holding a switchblade knife. "Negan sends his regards, bitch." He hissed, flicking the blade open menacingly.

Her heart pounding, her throat clogged with fear, Michonne made a run for it.

The guy was quick, dashing from her closet and getting his strong arms around her. He tackled her, tossing her on the bed underneath him. She wasted no time putting what she learned in years of self defense classes in effect - she got her legs around his waist, her arms around her neck, and her hands hooked into his black shirt underneath his jacket. She flipped her arm around his head, trapping him in his own clothes, and pulled with all her might. He was choking, squirming, and trying to gain purchase, but she had him where she wanted him.

With an almighty cry, Michonne kicked and shoved him off of her as hard as she could, sending him crashing into her dresser. She had to get to her gun.

Suddenly, her house alarm went off. The sound was deafening, momentarily stopping her in her tracks. She clamped her hands over her ears and stumbled forward, trying to shake off the shock from the noise. The man was on his feet before she made it to the door, and he grabbed her again.

She wasn't going down easy. Michonne twisted and thrashed in his grip, elbowing him, kicking him. She got him in the ribs and he slapped her, causing her to stumble.

He laughed and made to come at her again, but Michonne saw the knife from where he'd dropped it and dove for it. She landed painfully on her stomach, knocking into the hardwood floor as she stretched and grabbed at it. Seconds later he was on top of her again. "Oh no you don't you fuckin' _cunt!_ "

Michonne flipped around under him and jabbed the knife into any fleshy part she could get to. It was the tender meat just under his clavicle. He cried out when she twisted the knife, gritting her teeth and watching his face crumble underneath the black ski mask.

Then he reared back and slapped her again, _hard_. Michonne cried out at the impact, her face feeling as though it had exploded.

" _Get offa her._ " A low, hard voice growled from above them, almost drowned out by the shrill sound of her house alarm. Then the unmistakable click of a hammer being drawn back. "You have three seconds. Two of 'em are gone." Rick drawled.

An avalanche of relief washing over her, Michonne pushed the bastard off her body, scrambling back on her hands and feet until she hit the wall. She grabbed an old t-shirt that had been tossed across her armchair, and threw it on. Her bottom lip was beginning to bleed from the hit she'd just taken.

Rick saw this, and fire rushed through his veins. "Are you okay?" He asked, his jaw clenched. She nodded. He turned to glare down at the intruder with murder behind his eyes, a volcano of fury fighting to erupt. "Get up. Now!"

The intruder in the ski mask turned around slowly, wincing with pain from being stabbed with his own knife, which was still buried in between his clavicle and shoulder. Rick was standing over him, his icy blues gleaming with cold fury, aiming his very large gun right between the man's eyes.

" _Fuck you_ , asshole." The intruder rasped, leering.

Rick tilted his head. Then lifted his boot. He pushed it right up against the knife handle, pushing the blade deeper into the man's flesh. He cried out ferociously, but Rick only leaned harder, biting his lip with hardened intent to inflict as much pain as possible. Suddenly, the stranger in black grabbed for Rick's gun with his good hand, catching him off guard. Michonne gasped and shot to her feet as the two men began to fight over the weapon.

Rick got the Colt out of the guy's reach easily, having the use of both his arms. The gun fell on the bed, but Rick was so enraged that he didn't need it. He started punching.

Michonne stood with her hands pressed to her mouth as Rick practically beat the guy's head in with a few good punches to the face. The fury behind his eyes made the blue in them darken to the color of the ocean in a storm. But the stranger ducked Rick's last punch, lunging for his middle.

Michonne cried out, fearing for Rick's safety as the two men were driven out of the bedroom with that one forceful tackle. Rick lost his footing, but he recovered, twisting around and managing to use his momentum to fling the other guy away from him - down the stairs.

Acting on pure instinct, Michonne grabbed the huge, heavy Colt Python from the bed and flew out of the room after them, catching Rick knocking the guy down the stairs with a loud grunt. The sound of his body hitting the steps on the way down echoed around them under the alarm siren. Rick tore down the stairs in the intruder's wake, now blind with anger, firmly in protection mode, his fight overriding his flight.

The stranger rolled across the floor until his body crashed into the foyer wall. Rick stalked up to him before he could recover from the fall and began to kick his guts in. He landed several kicks to his stomach, chest, and wounded shoulder before the guy gurgled and spit blood out through the mouth hole in his ski mask. Rick snatched it off and punched him _hard_ twice more, knocking him unconscious. Still furious, he kicked him again.

The alarm stopped. Everything went quiet.

The red veil lifted from his vision, and he looked up from the intruder's limp, bloody body to see Michonne standing near the alarm console. Holding his pistol. She was wearing nothing but a crumpled tee-shirt and her panties. Her lip was bleeding, dripping onto the shirt. Her eyes were large and round as she stared at him. She didn't look afraid. She was looking at him like she could see him clearly for the first time since they'd met, but she wasn't shrinking from what she saw.

He stepped back from the intruder, breathing hard, his knuckles bleeding, his anger melting as he gazed at Michonne. He had lost his mind again. For her.

Rick took cautious steps towards her, and she watched him coming. He reached out for his gun. She slowly handed it over. They didn't lose eye contact as he tucked it in the back of his jeans again and stepped back.

Police sirens called out to them in the distance as they stared at each other, some kind of recognition unfolding in their eyes.

* * *

"This is a _bullshit_ case, ya know…" Special Agent Daryl Dixon grumbled as he blew on his hot coffee, staring resentfully through the windshield.

Special Agent Carol Peletier rolled her eyes but said nothing, keeping her gaze firmly planted on the warehouse across the street. They were on a stakeout. Daryl hated stakeouts. He got bored easily. He liked action. He liked results. Waiting around for hours for something - or more than likely, nothing - to happen just wasn't his idea of a productive use of his time. But it _was_ his job. She let him get his gripes over with, knowing that he'd quiet down soon enough and focus on the task at hand.

"Yeah, well, it's too late to settle down and become a car salesman," she deadpanned, still staring straight ahead.

Though she had to admit, he was right about the case. It was just a brokerage scam. They operated out of this shitty warehouse on the outskirts of town. Their team had planted an informant, who told them of a massive document dump going down tonight. The firm members were supposed to show up at any minute to destroy evidence of them defrauding novice investors out of millions.

Daryl scoffed, ignoring her little jibe. "Fuckin' pencil pushers. Scammin' clueless rednecks outta their coffee jar money. This is amatuer bullshit, Carol." He continued in his raspy growl of a voice, sipping his coffee and biting his thumb nail irritably.

She turned to offer him a sardonic smile. "What if it was _your_ family who lost all their savings?"

"What savings?" He retorted, frowning over at her. "They ain't got a pot to piss in, let alone enough money to invest in some scam."

Carol momentarily regretted bringing up Daryl's family. He was sensitive about his upbringing, his past as a poor, troubled kid before he joined the marines, got accepted to Quantico, and turned his life around. It was something they didn't talk about, like her past marriage to a man who beat her and the death of her daughter Sophia from leukemia.

She gazed at him, softening a little. "It'll be over in a few hours, tops, okay? Drink your damned coffee."

They sat in silence for a short while longer. Carol with her head leaning against her hand, bored stiff. Daryl sipping from his coffee every now and then purely for something to do. Suddenly Carol's phone went off, and she fished it out of her blazer pocket.

"Special Agent Peletier."

Daryl watched Carol while she spoke on the phone, trying to ascertain the situation based on her expressions. Whatever it was, it looked serious.

"When? Tonight? Shit. I'm on my way."

He frowned, sitting up straight in the passenger seat. "What's up?" he gestured with his chin to her phone as she hung it up.

"Michonne Williamson was just attacked," Carol informed him, dread collecting in her belly as she started the engine and buckled up. "We gotta go."

"Saved by the motherfuckin' bell," Daryl wasted no time putting his coffee in the cup holder between them and buckling his seatbelt, too. Carol rolled her eyes at him again and they drove off, headed for the suburb of Reece Park.

* * *

The sounds of cop radios interrupted the tense quiet every now and then as Rick stood in Michonne's kitchen and watched the police take her statement.

He'd be next.

He held his bleeding knuckles under cold water from the tap in her sink as he watched, until the blood clotted up and the pain began to fade somewhat.

As she recounted what had happened to her, Michonne's eyes kept darting to the floor where the intruder had been sprawled unconscious when the cops arrived. At first they had him sitting on his butt against the wall, cuffed, bleeding, and brooding while they searched the place, taking note of the damage and signs of struggle for their report.

He didn't say shit to the cops, just stared at Rick. Rick stared right back. He wanted to know who the fuck this guy was, too. He seemed uninterested in taking anything from the house. He had gone after _Michonne_. He was hostile about it. He sat there, ignoring the cops, his swollen, bruised, bloody face adorned with a smug expression.

When it was apparent he wasn't going to talk, they hauled him into custody. Now two remaining cops were taking Michonne's account of events. Rick hung back, allowing her her space, letting them do their job. He'd been in the middle of many scenes like this one when he was a deputy. He knew the drill. They had temporarily confiscated his gun and told him to stay put. So he would hang back in the kitchen until they came for him. He watched Michonne.

He didn't take his eyes off of her, relieved that he'd made it over here in time, wondering if that look of recognition in her eyes earlier meant she knew his secret, wanting to examine her for injuries himself. He wanted to explain himself, he wanted to comfort her. He wanted to not be like this. He could do nothing, he could have no answers yet, so he just stood there, ignoring the pain in his hand.

"He said…" Michonne uttered quietly, still staring at the floor where the stranger in black's blood was drying in angry streaks, "'Negan sends his regards, bitch'..." She swallowed, tearing her gaze away from the spot where she'd watched Rick kick the guy over and and over again in a blind rage.

She knew Rick was hovering somewhere in the background, watching her. Like he'd always been watching her, she realized. She could feel his eyes on her as she forced herself to look at the two police officers taking her statement. "I think my neighbor, Rick - I think he may have heard me scream. He came just in time. Fought the guy off."

"Was this before or after you stabbed the intruder in the chest, ma'am?" Asked one of the officers, a squat, sweaty, balding curmudgeon who refused to look her in the face, instead keeping his shiny bald head down as he scribbled notes from her answers. He still did not look up at her as he waited for her to answer. "When your neighbor showed up?"

"After." Michonne answered quietly, a flashback of Rick standing over the stranger, pushing the knife in deeper with his boot. The sight of it sent electricity shooting through her, head to toe. She was stunned, and on pins and needles, but more importantly she felt somehow...vindicated. He had witnessed what she'd been fearing for so long now, and he had defended her. Hearing Negan's name slither out of that asshole's mouth had raised every wild, terrible, unthinkable fear she'd buried or ignored for the last five years. She was trapped, exposed, and violated all over again. Just hearing his name. _How did he know where she was? What did he_ _ **want**_ _?_

All she knew, all she could think, was that this wasn't the end of it.

"Ma'am?" The taller, younger cop's gruff voice brought her out of her thoughts. When she looked over at him, he stood down somewhat, clearing his throat. "I understand you've been through an ordeal tonight, ma'am - just a few more questions, I promise."

Michonne nodded but said nothing. She waited.

"And this Negan person he mentioned? You said this is Negan Wolfe? That arms dealer guy?"

"The one that was on the terrorist watch list? Isn't he in Guantanamo or somethin'?" The balding cop huffed, finally looking up from his notepad.

"Riker's…" said a low, serious female voice from behind them. Everyone turned to Michonne's open front door, finding Special Agents Peletier and Dixon crossing the threshold.

Carol came straight for Michonne while Daryl looked around shrewdly at the scene. His eyes landed on Rick's and they sized each other up immediately. Carol held up her badge to the cops, her eyes on Michonne's.

"Michonne. Are you alright?" She asked, not bothering to make further introductions. The two cops exchanged glances, looking torn for how to proceed.

Michonne was so relieved to see Carol that she almost broke down right then, but she held herself together as she nodded again, allowing Carol to embrace her.

"What happened?"

"Yeah, and who's _this_?" Daryl rasped, pointing with his thumb to Rick, who stood still in the kitchen, watching the entire scene unfold without uttering a word or making a move to insert himself.

Carol tore her eyes away from Michonne (who looked shaken and a little bruised up, but otherwise as strong as ever) toward her kitchen, where a tall, dark, and handsome stranger was standing, watching them all warily. Silently. She cataloged everything she could about him - maybe five-eleven, looked to be in his late thirties, fit build, keen eyes, grim but confident demeanor. He had nothing to hide, it seemed, but he probably had things to answer for. With a small nod of her head, she sicked Daryl on him, then turned to the two cops standing there like dildos. "Can I have a minute alone with Ms. Williamson, please?"

"You got some jurisdiction here we don't know about, lady?" The balding cop grunted.

Carol didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, Negan Wolfe. And it's _Special. Agent. Peletier._ If you don't like it, complain to your chief. My name's spelled 'P-e-l-e-t-i-e-r'. Or you could make yourselves useful and get his statement."

She jerked her silver-haired head in the silent stranger's direction, standing her ground. She was eyeing them as though they were nothing more than pests. After a moment in which the air was tense with thinly-veiled resentment and icy indifference, they begrudgingly made their way into the kitchen.

"Carol, it's okay. He saved me. He's my neighbor, his name's Rick."

"He's the one whose front door's wide the fuck open, then." Daryl rasped, raising his chin at Carol to remind her of what they'd observed as they pulled up to the scene.

Now every eye in the room was on Rick.

He shifted on his feet, his blood-stained knuckles still hovering over the sink, and nodded. "That's right. I live next door," he drawled, his eyes on Michonne's.

"Well aren't you a good samaritan. How did you know there was danger?" Carol crossed her arms, eyeing him with intense scrutiny. He pulled his gaze from Michonne's to meet hers.

"I was gettin' ready for bed, heard her scream, looked through my window...saw someone in here with her." Rick stood taller as he lied smoothly, flexing his fist, trying to keep his cool. He hoped Michonne would corroborate his story. It was technically half true. He hoped they wouldn't have to get any deeper into it than that.

"And you beat the shit out of 'im, by the looks o'that hand," Daryl remarked, impressed.

Rick's eyes flickered to acknowledge Daryl's true guess before they were back on Michonne again. "I'm lucky he showed up when he did. I don't know how long I could've fought that guy off."

They stared at each other across the space, both finding it hard to remember that they weren't alone. Michonne was on his side, he realized. She was defending his actions at every turn so far, and she still didn't look afraid. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her, to explain himself, to find out if what he was reading in her eyes was just his imagination.

"Hey. I know you." Said the taller officer, suddenly recognizing Rick. "You're Rick Grimes."

Rick's gaze slid over to his face, his jaw clenched again. Shit. Here we go.

The other cop scoffed, shaking his head. "Holy shit, _this_ motherfucker? The legend himself? I thought I recognized that gun."

His partner joined in, a smug smile unfolding on his dipshit face. "Ohhh yeeaaahhh. You're the crazy motherfucker who burned out back in King's County."

The room was focused solely on him again as the two cops snickered at each other like idiots, exposing his past to a bunch of strangers - and Michonne. "The one sneakin' around sex rings like a perv?"

Rick felt heat pulsing through his pores, but he stood as still as he could. He wouldn't have a tough time beatin' the shit out of both of them. The porky one would be the easiest to take down. But this redneck special agent standing in front of him had huge arms and a vicious look about him. Rick didn't want to risk Michonne getting hurt while he got jumped and arrested.

Besides which, judging by the looks of the petit, silver-haired Agent Peletier, she would just as soon put a bullet through his head as let anything get out of hand. Government agents were even more trigger happy (and untouchable) than cops.

"No, the one that shut down four of 'em in less than a year…I've heard about you, Mr. Grimes." Carol muttered, looking at him in a new light.

"Have you heard that this asshole's been sneakin' around cold cases, making cops look bad, takin' money from grieving, gullible family members?" The taller officer growled aggressively, stepping up to Rick, getting in his face.

"Well, retirement's pretty boring. I try to stay active…" was his only answer as he sniffed and shifted on his feet again. He did not back down, his eyes gleaming antagonistically at the young, brash cop in his personal space.

"I tell you what - thanks for your public service tonight, friend. But that's _it_ for you, got it? You're not the law anymore. This is Atlanta, boy. This ain't the town to relive your old glory days in. You stay out of police business, or I swear you'll be gettin' another visit from us. This time to take you in and make sure you _rot_ there. Do we understand each other?"

"That's enough." Carol interrupted. Rick simply gazed unwaveringly at the young cop, remaining silent.

Finally, the cops backed off.

Rick tried to be patient as the two federal agents huddled with the cops, taking jurisdiction.

Daryl did another sweep of the house, combing over everything the cops had done.

Once that was done, they sent the cops on their way. Then they spoke with Michonne. Well, the Peletier woman spoke. Dixon just stood there watching Rick. He didn't know if he should leave her be or stick around. He knew what he wanted, but what he wanted may not be appropriate given the ordeal she'd just been through. He still had to retrieve his gun, though.

And thank her for not disputing his story, not giving them any other excuse to hassle him. And make sure she was really alright. That she knew she could count on him - anytime, for anything she needed.

Michonne was still acutely aware of his presence as she spoke to Carol, the agent who'd been assigned to her case five years ago. The agent who had fought to protect her, get her a deal that set her free and kept her safe in exchange for handing over Negan. Carol had always treated Michonne like a sister or daughter, and it was because of Carol that Michonne found the strength to move on after she escaped Negan.

"What does he want, Carol?"

"I don't know…" Carol admitted quietly, her mind racing. "But he's behind bars, Michonne. Whatever he's after, he isn't coming for it himself."

"But what about Andre? How am I going to know he's safe? If Negan's found me, he's found my son."

"Michonne - don't panic. Don't _run_." Carol said firmly, catching Michonne off guard. But then she wasn't really surprised that Carol had figured out her Plan B. The older woman knew all too well what it was like to be in Michonne's shoes. "I already sent a unit out to Sabine's. I'm heading there as soon as we're done here."

Michonne nodded, but she needed to know for herself. "I need to call him."

Carol handed over her cell phone. She dialed and he picked up on the first ring. "Mama! Are you okay?"

It seemed as though the agents Carol had sent for arrived. Michonne breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I'm fine peanut. Hey, calm down. Are you safe? Where's your Aunt Sabine?"

"She's talking to some men. They came in and started looking through all the rooms. They said you got hurt. What happened? Are you okay? Can I come see you?" he fired off, not taking a breath until he was finished.

Michonne fought off tears, wiping at her eyes as she sat up straighter and gripped the cell phone tightly. "Andre, listen to me. Don't worry about me. I'm a little shaken up, but I'm fine. It was just an intruder. I just wanted to hear your voice - make sure you're okay. Now I want you to stick close to your auntie and get some sleep. Those men will make sure you're safe."

"I wanna see you, ma." He insisted, his voice getting low and wavering - a sure indicator that he was mad and about to cry.

"Tomorrow, baby. I promise." Michonne held it together for him, trying to sooth him. "I'm _fine_. You believe me?"

There was a long pause. She could hear Sabine in the background, speaking with the agents. Finally, Andre said quietly: "Yes ma'am…"

"Good. Get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow. Deal?"

"Deal."

When she gave the phone back to Carol, the older woman sighed and rubbed her shoulder. "Let me find out what's going on. In the meantime, I've got men on the 'll protect you. I just need to make some phone calls. In the meantime, call Sasha. Keep your gun by your bed."

Michonne nodded, taking a deep breath as Carol rubbed her shoulders through the blanket she'd been wrapped in. She escorted them out, saying goodnight to Carol and her partner.

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Grimes." Carol said to Rick before she stepped out, eyeing him with that intense curiosity in her greyish-blues as he tucked his gun back into his jeans again.

He simply nodded, knowing that she meant it. He also knew that the cops were going to be watching his every move for a little while. Being on their radar wasn't good. But it had been worth it. There was nothing that was going to stop him from kicking that fucker's teeth in for attacking Michonne.

Michonne locked the door behind her and turned around to face him, feeling pulled even now. There he stood in practically the same spot he'd been in since the cops arrived, gazing at her.

His white t-shirt exposed his muscular arms, which he held at his sides as though they anchored him to that spot. "Thank you…" she whispered, her eyes watering. She reached up to wipe harshly at her tears.

Rick took a step forward, the overhead light making his eyes shine, and then several more. He stopped just in front of her, swallowing hard. Michonne gazed up at him as he hesitantly raised his hand and gently touched her wounded lip with his thumb. "I didn't get here fast enough."

Hearing the low tinge of anger in his southern drawl took Michonne's breath away for a moment. She could feel his body heat pulling her closer as Rick eyed her lips. She had so many questions, her curiosity about him and her attraction to him almost overwhelming. She reached up and touched his hand, realizing that it was swollen and gashed. "You're hurt." She said softly, frowning as she took his hand in hers.

"It's nothin'..." He returned, gazing at her.

Michonne led him gently into the kitchen by the hand, then let him go and reached up to open one of her cabinets and retrieve a first aid kit. "You saved my life tonight. At least let me patch you up. I'm a nurse, I know a gash when I see one. It looks like you caught one of his teeth with all that punching you were doing."

It relieved him to hear her teasing him. Michonne turned back to him, her heart fluttering, her head reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions she was going through after what happened. What it all meant.

She set up a little medical station on her kitchen island and began to tend to Rick's wounded hand, lost in thought.

Rick watched as she went about cleaning and treating the gash in his knuckles, unable to keep his body from responding to how close she was to him. Michonne felt it, too, but she tried to ignore it and focus on what she was doing. His hands were beautiful. His fingers were long, and strong, but surprisingly smooth. Rick took a deep breath, inhaling her natural scent, trying to keep himself from leaning in closer.

"You know Negan Wolfe?" He asked, partially to distract himself, and partially because hearing that name earlier had sent a cold rush of dread down his spine. Negan Wolfe was notorious. He started out young, he was smart, and he was ruthless. He'd been on the F.B.I.'s Most Wanted list almost a decade before he was caught. If Michonne was in any way connected to a man like Negan Wolfe, or how he ended up behind bars, she really was in danger.

Michonne swallowed, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah. He's...not a nice guy." She didn't know how to explain the rest. She concentrated on wrapping Rick's hand in gauze.

"What are you to him, Michonne?" Why did her body respond to his voice so viscerally? So completely willingly? She found herself inching closer and closer to him, her blanket slipping further from her shoulders, pulled by his heat and energy, her naked legs brushing against his jeans.

Then his question registered. She finally looked up at him. "Why does it matter to you, Rick?"

Rick stared at her, stuck for how to go on. He finally gathered his nerve, shifting on his feet, adopting a protective stance. "Because he's also a _dangerous_ guy. I know all about him. If _you_ know him, and he's sendin' people after you, you need protection."

Michonne gazed up into his eyes, mesmerized, drawn to him. And immensely curious. She needed answers, herself. She could no longer ignore the chemistry between them, but she had to know what his deal was. She had been so relieved that he'd shown up. But his sadness, his story, his watchfulness...the way he looked at her. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Nor could she stop the mildly accusatory tone that coated them. "Have you been watching me, Rick? Were you...were you watching me tonight? Is that how you knew I needed you?"

You could hear a pin drop as Rick's warm breath streamed silently from his nostrils, his eyes dropping from hers to her lips. He was so close that she could feel their bodies touching here and there. If he took a single step, he'd be on top of her. She found herself wanting him to press his warm, strong body into hers, but he kept just enough distance to keep himself in check. He couldn't lie to her. He didn't want to speak. He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering across her face.

Michonne frowned up at him, fascinated by him, exhilarated by him. "Why…?"

He averted his gaze this time, backing up slightly, pulling his hand from hers. He flexed it, wincing at the pain, finally meeting her gaze again. "I just want you to be safe, that's all." Came his deep, earnest voice as he stood a little taller. "I used to be a cop. I notice things. I noticed...you're always alone. I noticed you seemed sad. I wanted to keep an eye on you. I felt like somebody should. So I did."

She watched him for a while, and he had to allow her to see the truth in his eyes. "I'm glad you did…" she finally admitted. Rick could see true vulnerability in her now, standing in her crumpled t-shirt, bare legs and flimsy police blanket. Her bottom lip was cut from the impact of a backhand to the face, the sight of which made Rick boil with residual anger.

Suddenly he felt a warm, furry little body rubbing against his ankles and calves, and looked down to discover the cat had suddenly appeared. Michonne remembered Hercules darting under her bed when she discovered the stranger. She'd forgotten all about the little furball. Rick knelt down to give the fat thing a back rub, momentarily relieved for the distraction. When he looked up again however, Michonne was standing right over him. Her bare thighs were inches from his face. That's when he saw the bruise on her leg from her fight with the intruder.

Rick stopped rubbing the cat and turned fully to face her legs, looking up into her beautiful face. "He hurt you."

"I'm okay…" Michonne replied breathlessly as Rick touched her, his breath ghosting across her skin behind his fingers. The flesh there was tender, and she knew it would be terribly sore in the morning, but she could scarcely think of anything other than the man on his knees in her kitchen, touching her.

Rick was momentarily mesmerized, and daring. But then he forced himself to stand up and open her freezer. He retrieved a kitchen towel from her oven wrack and dumped some ice from the bucket he found into it. She watched him work, and finally he was standing near her again, where she liked him. He gently pressed the makeshift ice pack to her bruised thigh, gazing into her eyes. The cold made her gasp and wince. Michonne touched his hand the held the ice pack, looking up at him. "Thank you. That feels good."

Rick wanted to kiss her so badly. He warred with himself, standing over her, touching her, feeling her hand over his. But she'd been attacked tonight, he wasn't going to be that guy.

Hercules meowed and rubbed against them both, breaking the spell.

Rick stepped back, his hand slipping from underneath hers, and took a deep breath. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."

Michonne blinked, her mind slowly catching up to the moment. "It's okay. I'll call my friend Sasha in the morning. I'll be fine. Especially with you watching over me."

She was glad to see that slow grin of his again. He reached into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. He pulled out one of his business cards and handed it to her. "Anything you need. Any time. Call me. Please."

She took the card and nodded, watching as he backed up slowly. He finally turned, his gun glinting under the dim overhead kitchen lights. When he was gone Michonne stood there for a long moment, staring at his card. Then she locked the door behind him and set her alarm.

Michonne felt the quiet closing in on her as she slowly made her way upstairs again. She held the ice towel to her leg, her eyes sweeping the area, observing the telltale signs of the fight Rick had had with the stranger in her closet. When she made it to her bedroom, she saw the signs of _her_ fight with him all around her. She limped over to her practically caved in dresser and picked up her cell phone.

She stared at Sasha's contact information for a long time. Then she dialed the number on Rick's card instead.

He answered on the second ring.

* * *

Rick found his front door still wide open.

He dragged himself stiffly inside, his hand wrapped in gauze throbbing with dull pain. Closing and locking it behind him, Rick turned to face his dark, empty house. He had essentially run away from Michonne, at the same time that he wanted desperately to carry her up to her bed.

He wanted her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to feel what it was like inside her. He wanted to eliminate every danger she faced. He was undone by her.

His cell phone rang.

He retrieved it from the coffee table in his living room, and saw an unrecognized number. On a hunch, he answered, his heart pounding. At first there was silence, and then her soft, quiet voice. "Rick?"

"I'm here."

"Can you see me?"

Rick frowned. He didn't know how to answer that. He had narrowly avoided having to admit just how much he watched her, or having to go into his obsession with her. But it seemed she was fully aware of everything he wasn't saying, and she was boldly calling his bluff. He decided to follow her lead, his voice low and steady.

"Not yet. Hold on."

Rick's blood pumped in a steady swell through his body to his groin as he climbed up his stairs. The effects of his fight tonight would assault him later, but right now his only concentration was on getting to his favorite window. The blinds were still open in the dark room as he crossed over to it, listening to Michonne breathing. Finally, he stood in the spot he'd occupied so often he may as well have worn out grooves in his floor. She was standing in her bedroom, looking up at his window.

She couldn't see him, but he could tell she could feel his eyes on her. He exhaled sharply. "Yeah. I can see you."

His voice came out deep and husky. He was already getting hard. It was an exhilarating, frightening feeling. What was she doing?

Michonne reached up and touched her window with her cold, wet hand. He didn't know where her ice towel had gone. She sighed into the phone. He saw her chest rise and fall as he hear her breath across the phone line. "How often do you watch me, Rick?"

His heart sped up and his dick got harder. He hesitated a long time, before finally uttering: "Any chance I get."

Across their lawns, inside her bedroom, Michonne felt herself reacting to the sound of his husky drawl. He sounded reluctant, but also firm at the same time. There was no denying the intensity of his meaning, and it sounded like he wanted to spare her from it. But of course, it only made her want to know more.

She stared up at the dark window. Unable to see him but acutely aware of his eyes all over her, she bit her lip and admitted: "I think I always knew."

Rick was surprised, and certainly aroused by this admission. "Ever since I saw you, Michonne...I wanted to know you."

His voice lulled her, made her skin tingle. She was growing wet, and he was getting hard. The adrenaline and the trauma from the night weighed them both down and lifted them both up. They were caught in some dangerously intimate whirlwind, and Michonne finally let go of her resistance. She gave in to her immense curiosity, her overwhelming attraction.

Rick down at her as she stared up at him. Finally, she spoke. "You said to call you, if I needed you."

His cock twitched. He waited, gripping his phone hard in his good hand, his wounded hand aching.

"I'll do anything you want."

"I want you to come back. I need you right now."

"Alright…" He growled, and she hung up, turning from the window.

Rick did the same. He remembered to close and lock his door this time. Then he stalked across their lawns in the humid darkness, headed for Michonne.


	5. the first taste

_A/N:_

 _Firstly, I'm so sorry for the long delay between updates. I had a lot more planned for this chapter, but I figured I'd at least share the part we're all really here for (::coughs:: SMUT) lol. I'll get the plot rolling more soundly in the next installment._

 _Secondly, I just wanted you all to know that I appreciate your criticisms as much as your kind words. A couple of you pointed out some flaws in the last chapter, specifically in regards to Andre and how Michonne handled making sure he was safe. Also about the behavior of seasoned FBI agents in such a situation. Very, very valid points. I must confess that while I try my best to write in a way that feels immersive and authentic - I miss stuff. I do research and try to think about as many details as I can, but I'm grateful when my awesome readers raise their hands and say "uh, hang on lady, you missed a spot." So humbly, I thank you for pointing these things out. I want to make sure to create a Rick and Michonne that is believable, even if slightly deviating from cannon. I look at fanfiction as a very fun and effective way to hone my craft, and that also means listening to feedback and learning from it._

 _ **I went back and made some small edits to Chapter 4**_ _that will effect the way the rest of the story plays out, but only to strengthen the bond Michonne has with her son (even though they are kept apart by their situation). Thank you all again so much and I hope you enjoy this mini-chapter!_

* * *

 _I can read your lips_

 _I can read your mind_

 _all I want is you_

 _why am I so blind?_

 _and the way we were_

 _fatefully entwined_

 _in a shameless world_

 _rock and roll desire_

 _\- 'Shameless', Bryan Ferry (Groove Armada remaster)_

* * *

Michonne disarmed her house again and stood waiting in her darkened foyer, her entire body burning up with desire.

She ignored the scene of struggle around her. She ignored the dull ache in her bruised thigh. She licked away the sting in her bottom lip, watching her doorway. Her thin panties were damp, her nipples hard underneath the threadbare t-shirt she'd thrown on while Rick was beating the shit out of a man who tried to kill her.

She heard footsteps on her front porch, and a second later he rang her doorbell. Michonne let out a shallow breath and rushed to the door, unlatching the chain lock and turning the others before flinging it open.

She only had a second to take in the sight of him in the warm glow of her porch light - tall, dark, and gazing at her with fiery intent blazing in his crystal blue eyes - before he stepped into her, wrapping his strong arms around her and lifting her up.

Michonne gasped and Rick used the opportunity to finally kiss her, walking over the threshold with her in his arms as he slid his strong, hot tongue inside her mouth. They both groaned with simultaneous satisfaction as _finally_ they gave in to the volcanic desire they'd both been feeling ever since they first set eyes on each other. It was a slow, deep, tender kiss.

She wrapped her legs around him and held on tight to his shoulders as he carried her inside and kicked her front door closed.

His body was burning up, just like hers, and he felt so solid and sturdy between her thighs that she practically melted around him. A flood of arousal drenched her sex as Rick's strong hands gripped her flesh, his full lips pulling and sucking on hers hungrily. He groaned and slid his hand along her aching thigh as he stalked through the shadows with her toward the stairs, making her wince at the exquisite pain.

Rick kissed and groped Michonne while he carefully carried her upstairs to her bedroom, his cock hard and pulsing with a desperate need to be inside her. He squeezed her luscious ass in his hands, pressing her against him as his body hummed and vibrated with desire. All the while, their tongues danced intensely for the first time, but not for the last. _Mmm, god, not for the last_ , Rick thought as he hoisted her more securely in his arms. Her lips practically enslaved him.

Michonne, meanwhile, was completely entranced by the thick, hard feel of him between her thighs, where she needed him the most. Her sex quivered around him and for him as she rubbed herself along the tantalizing length she could feel trapped behind the fabric of his jeans. The promise of it drove her to whimper breathlessly into his mouth. She was high on the feel of him; his thick curls between her fingers, his body heat warming her thighs and hands, his deep voice rumbling in his chest against her nipples as he found her bed and bent to deposit her there.

Without breaking their kiss, Rick sank down onto the bed with her, his weight pressing into her. He ground his hips and sucked on her lips, his cock twitching between her slick thighs. He had a vise-like hold on her - one muscular arm hooked around her slender waist, the other hand gripping her thigh to keep her as tightly pressed against him as possible. He didn't care for his wound. Only for making her understand what she did to him.

She wanted him to fuck her so badly. And he _would_. The intent burned like fire in his chest. Right now, though, he had other plans for her. Rick licked the small cut in her lip and leaned back a little, his gaze like cerulean fire.

"Can I taste you…?" came his whisper-soft, deeply sexy voice. Their noses were pressed together, his warm breath caressing her skin. He waited, his heart racing, his mouth watering.

Michonne nodded against his face, her sex once again shuddering around his length with intense anticipation.

Before he went on, he let go of her thigh so he could lift her shirt. Michonne helped him rid her of it, and he tossed it somewhere on the floor in the dark. She did the same to him, lifting his soft white cotton shirt up, exposing his warm, tanned skin. The feel of his bare skin against hers made her even wetter.

Rick exhaled long and hard, concentrating on her mouth again. He nuzzled his face against hers until their lips met and latched. When she opened up for him, he leaned in and kissed her deeply, rolling his body into hers. He did not loosen his hold on her as he moved his kisses from her mouth to her neck, his scratchy stubble stinging deliciously before he followed it up with hot flicks of his tongue. He sucked on her skin, grinding against her, squeezing her soft flesh. She clung to him, massaging his neck as he kissed a scorching trail lower and lower until he reached her breasts.

Rick closed his eyes and licked one of her nipples into his mouth with a reverent sigh. Then he sucked, _hard_ , tightening his hold on her body even more so she couldn't escape.

Michonne writhed and moaned in his tight grip, going mad with how good his tongue felt swirling around and around her breast. She arched her back, shoving her chest into his face, throwing her head back. Rick moved on to the next breast, moaning deep in his throat, losing his mind for her again. He finally had _Michonne_ in his arms, her skin against his tongue. He rubbed his hardness along her sex, sucking on her nipples, licking at them and tasting them, unleashing months of restraint, causing her to tug on his hair and dig her nails into his skin.

After a few breathless turns of tongue play that made every inch of her tingle and shiver, his succulent lips finally let go of their tender prize.

Rick bucked his hardness into her yet again, wanting to devour her. He was just getting started. Now he gently pushed her down into the mattress so he could kiss his way down her torso. Michonne trembled beneath him as he slowly, reverently parted her legs with his bandaged hand. She felt his eyes all over her, taking her in inch by inch. He very slowly licked and kissed the insides of her slick thighs, getting his first taste of her; slippery and tangy-sweet against his tongue. He kissed his way down her thigh to the crook of her pelvis, nipping and licking at her panty line with his plump lips and scorching tongue as he went. Her scent made his dick so hard it was just shy of becoming painful. He was in a trance, utterly hypnotized by finally having her where he'd wanted her since the first night he watched her from his favorite window. She had _no idea_ how badly he wanted this part of her, but she was about to find out. He was going to indulge. He had to.

Rick pushed his face into her crotch and inhaled deeply, slowly rubbing his nose along her folds through the flimsy fabric of her panties. Michonne moaned and opened her legs wider, longing for him with every fiber of her being. She gripped his curls and the taught muscles of his arm helplessly as he exhaled again slowly. His steamy breath made her practically melt against his face. The anticipation of his tongue coming next was running like a bold electric current through her body. He groaned against her, the vibration in his throat reaching her clit, his lips and nose smashed into her drenched panties.

She smelled amazing. Damn, how was she gonna _taste_? He wanted to prolong the moment, to memorize it perfectly with all of his senses.

" _Mmm…Rick..._ _ **please!**_ " she whispered his name, demanding he stop teasing her, causing him to shudder with need in response.

He quit wasting time and got himself situated, not wishing to deprive her (or himself, _goddamn_ ) a second longer.

Keeping his eyes closed, his stubble brushing against her skin, Rick opened his mouth and dipped his tongue out. It slithered thick, damp, and hot around the sopping wet cotton to greet the quivering folds of her pussy. He licked her up and down forcefully, indulgently, gripping her thigh with one hand to hold her still.

Michonne lay back and crushed her eyes shut too, melting into a steaming puddle when Rick groaned and pulled her closer against his face, using his other hand to roll her soaked panties away from her flesh. Then he began to lick and suck on her with careful, measured intent, and yet also with a hunger that bewildered her, sending electricity shooting through her every pore. When he paused to concentrate on fucking her slowly with his thick, curled tongue, she shuddered and began to ride his face, pleasure beyond comprehension welling up inside her. Rick aided her thrusts by supporting her weight in his hands with insatiable abandon, settling in and unleashing the wild beast that stirred restless and trapped inside him all those days watching her. Falling for her.

He felt her walls contract and halted his thrusts to suck on her clit again.

"Michonne…" he growled, sucking on her tender bud before applying pressure with the tip of his tongue. He wanted her cum in his mouth. He wanted to drink every drop of her.

He began to alternate between lapping at her clit with the flat part of his tongue and massaging it with the tip, his hand still firmly holding her ruined panties back. She rode him faster, going out of her mind, utterly lost in what he was doing to her, so wet and so ready to cum in his mouth.

He opened his eyes and gazed up at her as he worked her into a quivering mess.

She was one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever seen. Long, shapely, smooth all over, and _so fuckin'_ _sexy_. Rick had never met a woman as sexy as Michonne. Every blink of her eyes and quirk of her lips made him rock hard.

After so long of phantoms and nightmares, she was finally something he could _feel_. And _taste_.

Michonne came crumbling to pieces against his face as a powerful orgasm shook her to her core, sending her keening and moaning like a cat in heat. Rick sucked and licked at her juicy lips, one hundred percent certain that he would never be satisfied of tasting her. She came even harder as he proceeded to lap at her with the tip of his scorching tongue, holding her tightly in his strong grip so she had no choice but to take it - wave after torturously intense wave.

When it was over, her legs collapsed against his muscular shoulders, her breasts rising and falling in dark swells with her heaving breaths. Rick slowly lifted his head, his lips and chin dripping with her cum. His blue eyes glittered with carnal lust as he gazed up at her. Then he groaned, unsatisfied, and began kissing her sopping wet folds, his eyes slipping shut again as he licked them into his mouth to suck on a few more times for good measure.

Michonne could only let him go to town, tingling all over until he finally slowed to a halt. For a few breathless moments, he simply cradled her legs to him in his arms, stroking her thighs with his fingers, laying gentle, damp kisses all over her sex. She gazed down at him, her fingers still in his curls, falling for that prismatic gleam in his eyes. "What else do you need?" came his husky whisper.

Michonne shivered as his breath caressed her clit. She gazed into his eyes, lulled and hypnotized, a great desire rising in her to be filled, to be plundered. "I need you inside me, Rick…" she breathed.

He nodded, his eyes on her lips. Michonne shivered again as he rose slightly, grabbing and kissing her hard, letting her taste herself on him. When he finally satisfied his insatiable hunger to kiss her as many times as he could, she turned and crawled out of his arms across the bed toward her nightstand.

Rick was momentarily reluctant, but he let her go. He stood rigidly, watching her while he stroked himself through his jeans, feeling his head drip with precum against his skin. Her body was as sleek as a cat, unfurling and arching beautifully across her pale grey bedcovers. The lovely shape of her ass and the glistening little pouch of her sex that he could see tucked between her cheeks made him want seconds, from behind this time. Michonne opened the small drawer in the nightstand, retrieving a condom from a pack she'd bought months ago after a mildly promising date that ultimately went nowhere.

He watched her coming as she crawled back toward him, her eyes dropping from his to his (by now quite pronounced) cock print.

Rick let go of himself and stood unabashedly before her, letting her gaze rake across his girth. The light of hunger glinted in her dark eyes, and he twitched in his pants - he could hardly wait to plant himself inside her and _unleash_.

He gazed down at her as she perched herself on her haunches at the edge of the bed, her gorgeous ass arching upward toward him, tantalizing him. Seconds later, he felt her delicate breath on his skin as she stroked him through the taut denim. She followed it up by licking and kissing his warm pelvis, unbuckling his belt with steady, focused intent. Rick's eyes were heavily lidded, his lips pursed, his nostrils flaring as Michonne unzipped him slowly, her cunning, slippery-wet tongue following closely behind. She kissed and licked him all around his pelvis and along the rim of his boxer briefs, teasing him as he had teased her. When he thrust slowly against her, she reached up and pulled on the fabric, exposing him - long, hard, deep pink, and dripping for her. The slippery base of his swollen head rested against her thick lips, and she opened for him without hesitation. Rick closed his eyes and felt himself lacing his fingers into her locs as Michonne took him slowly into her mouth, inch by agonizing inch. Her flattened, yet pillowy-soft tongue lubricated the way for him, causing him to groan and pause as the sensation washed over him from the tip of his head to the bottom of his balls. _Fuck._

Michonne was dripping for him again, too, her pussy tightening with a jolt of lust as she stroked his thighs and sucked on him a few times before pulling back slowly. Rick gasped, breathing hard, wanting to thrust into her mouth.

But right now he wanted something much more desperately, as fucking _amazing_ as this felt.

She let him pop out from between her lips and hang there at the base of her chin, heavy and dripping with a pearlescent mixture of her saliva and his precum. The gleam in her eyes drove him crazy. Deciding to stop her teasing, the smooth-skinned beauty leaned back and ripped open the condom with her teeth. Rick quickly pulled off his boots and pulled his pants and underwear all the way down so he could step out of them, too.

Then, finally, he stood naked before her, swallowing with fervent anticipation. He found himself reaching out for her and pulling her up against him as she got the thing out of its wrapping.

Michonne took hold of his dick, stroking him, kissing him, and rolled it onto him smoothly. He twitched in her hand, causing her already soaking pussy to secret even more evidence of her need for him.

She pulled back again and slipped her soaking panties down her thighs. Rick helped her get them off, holding her legs and pulling them the rest of the way.

The second he was done, Rick climbed onto the bed and hoisted her up onto his hips, sucking on her mouth as he rubbed her sex along his, preparing her for entry. The condom was skin-tight and completely translucent. It made him feel harder, and it made him feel more intensely. Michonne wrapped her arms around his shoulders as the handsome stranger from next door finally entered her. He eased in slowly until he suddenly bottomed out, hitting her in a spot that sent vibrations of ecstasy shooting through her, making her moan.

She was so tight and wet he felt as though he were being pulled instead of invading, or both simultaneously. Michonne felt like she was melting and at the same time filled to the brim. It was the best feeling either of them had experienced in a long, long time. Rick parted the slick cheeks of her bottom to give his girth more purchase while he plundered her...slowly at first...then a little faster, and then faster still.

She was a steady, steamy waterfall, wetting him from hilt to tip, drawing him in, casting a spell on him. They moaned at each other and breathed each other's air as Rick settled down with her perched on his haunches, bouncing her on his dick.

An all-consuming, possessive fire ignited in him as he clutched at her flesh and drilled into her deeper and deeper. Michonne felt his lips on her nipples again and swooned, riding his hot, hard cock in his lap, reveling in the feel of herself in his hands. They threw away all caution or pretense, crashing into each other at a steady, hypnotizing pace, wet and hot and deep... _mmm...so fuckin' deep_. Rick slowed down again, feasting on her breast, driving his steel length to the core of her with focused precision.

They both felt the cosmic high of erotic release wash over them as they joined over and over again, glued to each other like magnets. This was their very first taste of each other, and they were already hooked - rapidly becoming addicted to one another.

Rick pulled his lips from her breast and lifted his head to lean his forehead against hers. Needing to feel her quake around him, he let go of her with one hand and began to massage her clit with his thumb while he thrust into her.

Michonne gasped in his face, riding him harder, whimpering, her speed increasing as she drove her hips downward onto his thick, hard shaft. _Almost there_ …his abdomen clenched with anticipation as he rubbed her sensually, kissing her tenderly. Finally, she came, her walls drenching him, gripping him in rolling, convulsing waves that sent him falling over the edge with her. He followed, his orgasm shooting through him powerfully. He gripped Michonne by the neck and ass as it crashed through his body, causing him to slam his hips into hers to ride it out. She trembled around him while he erupted into her, the push and pull of their lips matching the push and pull of their bodies against one another's as they both gradually came down from their simultaneous bliss, slowing to a crawl.

Michonne held him by the curls at the nape of his neck, and he continued to rock into her as his hand slid from her throat to fully take hold of her ass again. They stared into each other, kissing and still grinding, the residual pleasure still singing through their bodies.

That dazzling recognition settled over them both again as they looked into each other's eyes. There was more than mere attraction at work here. Deep down in his gut, Rick couldn't help feeling that it was no coincidence - this undeniably strong desire coming to a head during the most volatile and frightening night of their brief acquaintance. And she too could feel this secret, intoxicating notion slithering through her thoroughly worked sex, finding a home in her every nerve ending.

He didn't know what was going to happen, now. How they would move forward in the morning. But Rick knew one thing for certain. He wanted _more_. So did Michonne.

* * *

Sabine Williamson stood rigidly in her living room while Agent Peletier paced in front of her, speaking to someone over the phone. She crossed her arms, anger and fear rippling through her body as she waited.

The other one, the big redneck, was playing a videogame with Andre upstairs to keep him distracted.

About forty five minutes before Michonne called with the terrifying news of the intruder in her house - sent by that repellent man who kept her from her son for most of his childhood - the feds had shown up and done a complete sweep of the house, inspecting every room, all around the outside, the attic, and even in the garage. That had been the longest forty-five minutes of her life. They found no one, to Sabine's relief.

Andre didn't know anything about Negan, and Sabine wanted to keep it that way. All he knew was that a bad man had hurt Michonne, and he had demanded to be taken to her. Michonne had called to make sure he was okay, but now he was worried about _her_ , and he wanted to make sure she was safe in person.

He was usually a soft-spoken, respectful little boy, but when they told him he couldn't see her, he had fumed, almost to the point of tears. He didn't speak to anyone, until Caol offered to escort him personally the next day, when they could confirm everyone was safe. He reluctantly agreed, and Daryl had asked to play video games upstairs.

Then Carol began making arrangements for a team to settle in overnight and watch the house.

"Okay. Thanks. Call me when you're here."

Carol hung up and faced Sabine again finally. The elder Williamson sister was nothing like Michonne. They favored each other, certainly. But where Michonne held an inferno of passion and impulsive ambition churning insider her, Sabine was wrapped in a hard shell of cool intellect that possessed command of any situation she found herself in. Regardless of the age or experience of the people around her, Sabine ultimately always came off as the Adult in the room.

The two women had learned to respect each other's points of view, even though they didn't often find themselves agreeing, especially about Michonne. Tonight, her first question had been "What has she done?" when she heard that her sister had been attacked.

Now, Sabine assessed Carol with the quiet sounds of explosions and laughter wafting into the room from upstairs, where Andre and that Agent Dixon were playing.

"What are our options?" She asked quietly, tightening her robe around herself.

Carol sighed. "I think you should get outta here. Take Andre with you. Until we know it's safe. In the meantime, we'll keep someone here, just outside."

Sabine let out a breath of relief, nodding, and hugging herself. "Thank you."

"You have somewhere you can go? Lay low for a while?"

"Yes." Sabine nodded again, trying to think. "A colleague of mine owns a house in California...uh...I can call him first thing in the morning. See if he'll let us stay there."

"Good." Carol knew she should leave it there, but she couldn't help adding: "This wasn't brought on by any red flags or stepping out of bounds, Sabine."

Sabine blinked at her, taken aback. She couldn't believe this woman had the nerve to speak to her about her personal feelings towards her sister. "Excuse me?"

"You know the last thing Michonne would ever do is put Andre at risk."

" _Do_ I?" The elder Williamson sister countered testily, raising a razor sharp eyebrow.

"Look, we didn't see this coming. This doesn't make sense yet, but I promise you, we'll-"

"If I lived my life by your promises, Andre would've had a mother ten years ago, Agent Peletier." Sabine cut her off bitterly, having none of it. "Michonne is reckless, and blind. And she's also _my_ sister, not your excuse to express a moral opinion. Now are you going to do your _job_ and protect me and my nephew or are you going to stand there judging me all night?"

Carol could only offer a tiny, steely smile. "I'm gonna do my job." She answered softly.

"Hey - the little tike's ready to conk out. I put 'im in bed." Daryl interrupted, sauntering into the living room from upstairs. "We all set here?"

As if on cue, Carol's phone buzzed. Her gaze slipped from Sabine's as she answered it. The unit she'd sent for was outside setting up. "Yeah," she answered Daryl when she hung up. She returned her attention to Michonne's sister. "Get some sleep. Someone will be here all night. I'll call you in the morning when everything's all set."

"Just find out what's going on." Sabine charged, her emotions getting the best of her composure. "What does he want from us?"

"There's no telling with a man like that," Caol offered seriously. "But I _am_ going to find out. He's had years to think about her betrayal - my guess is, he's letting her know he hasn't forgotten."

"What about my nephew?"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to Andre. Neither is Michonne. Do you trust that?"

After a long while of tense silence, Sabine finally nodded. Then she escorted them out. On their way, they stopped by the car of the agents Carol had sent for. "Any movement, you call me, got it? Secure the boy and the aunt first, that's your number one priority."

"Copy that," the grim faced young agent in the black car nodded. His partner spoke up from the passenger seat: "Jacoby and Meyers are at the house in Reece Park now."

"Copy. Goodnight, gentlemen."

Before they took another step, Carol called Michonne. Her phone went to voicemail, which mildly alerted Carol but didn't quite alarm her. There was a unit with her, if there was danger she'd know about it. Michonne looked dangerously close to shock when they parted earlier, but she was stronger than she thought. Carol wouldn't be surprised if she was asleep, exhausted from all of it. She wondered if that neighbor of hers was still watching out for her. He seemed all too eager to do the job, judging by the damage they told her he'd done to the perp.

There was something about him. She wanted to check him out.

She left a voicemail for Michonne telling her that Andre and Sabine were safe and they would talk in the morning.

"Kid's a little ball buster already." Daryl remarked while they walked back to their own car and climbed inside. He liked the kid, though. He was tough. And somehow still kind. He reminded Daryl of himself when he was a kid. Kid like that needed a big brother or father figure to guide him. Maybe not one as crazy and violent as Daryl's estranged brother Merle, but still. Carol merely made a noise of acknowledgement, deep in thought. When she started up the engine he finally picked her brain. "Aiight - what's your gut tellin' ya?"

"Something's going on…" she said, staring through her windshield at the passing scenery. "Five years of silence, and now this? Negan is a sadistic fuck, but he's not stupid. He's calculated, Daryl, you know this."

"Yeah…" her partner chewed on his lip. "I been thinkin' myself: He must've expected to take her out. Did he plan to snatch the boy, too?"

"There was no escape vehicle found...unless the alarm scared off an accomplice." Carol answered thoughtfully.

"I say let's find out." Daryl declared, causing her to frown over at him. "Let's go shake up the fucker they took into custody at Michonne's place."

Carol nodded, making a sharp turn to direct their car into the lane that would take them through town to the county jail. They'd book and hold the perp there until transfer arrangements were made. She smirked as she drove, raising her eyebrows. "So 'good cop, bad cop' or just railroad him?"

Daryl chuckled, rubbing his chin. "I say just run the fucker over. How hard could it be to get a wrap sheet or a background on this guy? If he's workin' for Negan, he's got a record. Guarantee that shit."

"Agreed." Carol blindly fished around in the glove compartment for her cigarettes. Daryl swatted her hand away and retrieved them for her so she could focus on driving. He took out two, put one his mouth and handed the other to her.

They lit up and she made the turn that would take them a few short blocks to the jail. "You're worried about Michonne, aren't ya?" He asked quietly, taking a long drag.

She was silent for a moment, but then she nodded. She remembered having to talk Michonne down from murdering Negan before they'd managed to remove her safely from his clutches. Months and months of wiring her and reassuring her and close calls and the deaths of other informants.

And tonight, having to warn her against running. It wouldn't do for her to take her son on the run from a madman, no matter how determined Michonne was to keep the boy out of harm's way.

She couldn't lose Michonne now, or Andre. Or even Sabine, as bossy as she could be.

"I'm worried, yeah." She admitted, puffing on her cigarette as they pulled into the parking lot. "But it doesn't matter. Let's just get to work, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." Daryl agreed. An attempted assassin waited inside, hopefully with some answers.


	6. the hard questions

_who are you, who are you, you look so familiar_

 _I know you, I know you, baby, I know the truth_

 _we got way too much in common_

 _if I'm being honest with you_

 _who wants to love somebody like me?_

 _you wanna love somebody like me?_

 _if you could love somebody like me_

 _you must be messed up too_

\- 'In Common', Alicia Keys

* * *

Michonne opened her eyes at dawn.

Rick was lying on top of her, breathing slowly, like a slumbering bear. He was warm, and still as solid as she remembered him from last night.

Last night.

Flashes of memory assaulted her, making her heartbeat quicken. Her lip felt sore, along with her leg, and the rest of her ached as well. She had fought for her life last night. Only to be saved by the man whose weight and warmth was finally resonating. His lips and nose were cradled in her locs, his thighs tangled up with hers. Michonne felt safe, wrapped up with him.

But she also felt the need to go and look at herself. Really look at what happened to her. And hear Andre's voice.

A powerful, heavy desire to speak to her son again rose up in her, and Michonne began to slip as carefully as she could out of Rick's arms. At first he sighed and tightened his grip on her, nuzzling her neck. She felt that pull again, but she fought it and continued her retreat with a little more determination this time.

As soon as she was deprived of his warmth and masculine energy, she wanted to crawl back inside his embrace again, but she snapped herself out of it. Michonne stood naked at the foot of her bed, watching to see if he would stir or wake. And she admired his figure...the outline of his toned limbs wrapped up in her sheets. His profile was just as striking as the front of him. He was so heavy. And strong. And protective. And serious. And sexy.

She shivered, remembering how powerful he felt stroking into her so deep…

Michonne forced herself to turn away from the bed.

She ignored the shirt she'd been wearing last night and went for her robe instead. Slipping it on, Michonne couldn't help pausing to examine herself. She held the robe open in the full length mirror by her closet, her eyes sweeping slowly, carefully over her naked body. Her thigh was definitely beginning to bruise deeply, a large, greyish-blue patch running down the length of it from where that guy slammed her into the floor and tried to pin her down. She didn't appear to be seriously injured anywhere else. If Rick hadn't come...there was no telling what that fucker would've tried to do to her.

Sighing, Michonne closed her robe. Then she took a look at the space around her. Everything was all askew. She could hardly tell what had been the fight and what had been their lovemaking. Except for her caved-in dresser, which would have to be replaced.

She found her phone on the floor by the bed and tiptoed out of the room, taking one last, lingering look at her sleeping neighbor. She found herself overwhelmed with the hope that what they'd done wouldn't just be a one night stand. And coupled with that, a sharp tinge of guilt.

And what they had done - what did it make them?

Michonne shook these thoughts away from her, closing the door as gently as she could and making her way through the house. Of course, Hercules abandoned his post on her armchair and followed, bumping the door ajar again with his plump body.

Thanking her lucky stars that she was off today, and wouldn't have to make up some lame excuse to stay home from work, Michonne made her way downstairs in the early morning quiet. Her eyes raked over still more evidence of last night's close call as she went. The intruder's dried blood was still streaking the hardwood floor in her foyer. Her uniform pants and shoes were still bunched up by her kitchen counter.

She'd forgotten all about them. Michonne stood rigidly in the middle of her silent house, staring at the katana hanging above the television in her living room. It had been a gift from Negan. The only thing she'd kept. Even the _thought_ of being under Negan's focus again made her skin crawl and her stomach lurch with dread. A great swell of fear and panic threatened to consume her suddenly.

She tried to calm down. Carol had told her not to run. Begged Michonne with her eyes.

Okay. It was just one guy, she tried to reassure herself. Maybe some asshole looking to score points with whatever remained of Negan's network, maybe trying to curry favor. Michonne had seen things like that plenty while she was with the man, back when he trusted her. People came from all over, trying to earn their way into the fold, or get him to use his power to settle old scores, silence enemies - all kinds of crooked shit.

Michonne swallowed down her panic, feeding Hercules before moving through the house again, headed for the garage.

As she went, she noticed a voicemail from Carol. She listened. "Hey Michonne, it's Agent...uh, it's Carol. Listen, your sister and your son are safe. No sign of any intrusion. We've got people watching them. You, too. There should be someone outside your place right now. I'll be in touch first thing, we've got...something to discuss. You're not going to like it, but we think it's for the best." There was a pause. "I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, Michonne. Get some sleep."

Once inside the dark garage, she exhaled a sigh of relief. Andre was safe. For now.

Hugging her robe to herself, Michonne dialed her son's phone, hoping that he would pick up and not Sabine. She knew it was early, and he would likely be asleep, but sometimes when she was feeling particularly lonely after a long shift, she would call him and he would answer. During those rare times, she could only get a few coherent sentences out of him, but she cherished their 'talks' all the same.

He answered on the fourth ring, his voice more awake than she'd expected, though she could tell he'd been sleeping. "Mama?"

"Hey, baby." Michonne had to swallow a sudden swell of emotion before she could continue. "Are you okay? Did you get some sleep like I asked?"

He sighed and mumbled: "Yes ma'am." Andre paused, and when he spoke next, he sounded more awake, and a little angry. "Ma - they wouldn't let me come see you. Are you okay? I know you said so last night, but you're always making stuff sound better than it is."

Michonne let out a cheerless chuckle. Her boy was onto her. "Andre Anthony…"

" _Are you hurt_ , mama?" The precocious almost-ten-year-old insisted stubbornly. It made her heart swell.

"No, peanut. I'm okay." Silent tears streamed down her eyes. Guilt and shame assaulted her. She wished she could hug him. She wished they had let him come to her. Part of her resented Carol for it, though she knew the woman was just doing her job. And, she knew Sabine probably had something to do with the bad news the agent had mentioned. "And I'm sorry they wouldn't let you see me. But, you know at the time it was for the best. Do you trust me?"

He was quiet for a moment, and she knew he probably wanted to probe her more on her well being, but finally he acquiesced. "Yes, ma'am…"

Michonne gave a small, sad smile to the dim, silent garage. "Listen...I know you're worried. And scared. But everything's going to be okay." She felt like a liar, but she had nothing else to go on. She didn't want her boy taking on the mental and emotional burden of the danger they could be in if this was nothing more than a vigilante criminal trying to curry favor with a once notorious crime lord. Michonne also knew she was reassuring herself as much as her son, but again...there was nothing else she could do at that very moment, with nothing in her arsenal but a motherly instinct to protect Andre the only way she could. With her words. Guilt and anger and sadness and a litany of other emotions churned through her as she continued: "I can't wait to see you again, peanut. Wrap my arms around you. Give you a _biiiig_ , squishy hug."

Andre laughed softly, sounding reluctant to give in to her attempts to cheer him up. "That guy Daryl said he'd take me to you today. But then he left with that gray-haired lady. What's going on, mama?"

She took a deep breath, staring at the car she was saving for him, draped in a plain beige tarp. She sighed. "We might have to wait a little while before you can come stay with me, that's all baby. I promise, it's just for now. Just until we know the bad guys aren't going to come back."

"But _who are they_? Why are they trying to hurt you?"

He was so curious. So smart. So brave and caring. "Just...some people I knew from before you were born. I saw some bad things when I was younger, and they didn't want me to tell anyone what I saw. Some of them are still angry."

It was all she could offer him. She couldn't tell him that his father was a criminal, an evil person, someone that could end lives and cause nightmares with the snap of his fingers. She couldn't tell him that he was separated from her because his father, though locked away for a long, long time, was possessive and vindictive and cruel. She couldn't tell him that she'd been weak, and brainwashed, and trapped. His only understanding of their situation was that when he was born, Michonne had been "serving her country" - he didn't know it was by becoming a spy (essentially) for the feds to take Negan Wolfe and his intricate web of crime down brick by brick. She couldn't explain the intense danger she was in, day in and day out, while he was growing up oblivious with his aunt Sabine. Not yet. It would shatter him. He thought his father was dead. A decent, regular man who was not fortunate enough to live to see his son become a man.

Michonne felt like sobbing, but she held it in. She waited.

Finally, Andre spoke again. "Are you scared, ma?"

She bit her lip. Her son never ceased to amaze her. She felt like her heart had grown ten sizes bigger, just by having him. "No, peanut. No one's going to hurt me. Or you. That gray-haired lady, Carol? She's on our side. She's going to help protect us."

"She's weird. Aunt Sabine doesn't like her."

Michonne laughed quietly, tears brimming over and spilling from her eyes down her cheeks. "Carol _is_ a tough one. Your Aunt Sabine is just being protective."

"I don't know, ma. They don't act like they like each other at _all_. But I like Daryl. He's funny. He's pretty good at Grand Theft Auto, too."

"Oh yeah? Better than me?" She teased, glad that he was distracted.

It was her son's turn to laugh, sleepily. "Mama, you're always trying to run people over! Daryl's really good at finding the bad guys. He says it's like his real job. He said he'd answer my questions about being an FBI agent. You know, the stuff Google doesn't tell you? I'm gonna make a list..." He gave a great, deep yawn and Michonne laughed quietly at how curious he was.

They talked for a little while longer, about playing video games with Daryl, about when he'd get to see her again. Michonne wanted to keep talking forever, but eventually he started to drift off again. She whispered that she loved him and that she'd see him soon when it became apparent that he was falling asleep. It was very early in the morning, after all.

They hung up, and Michonne stood there for a long while, listening to the silence.

Then her eyes rose to the car sitting in her garage, draped in a dusty tarp, cast in streaks of shadow and light from the small garage windows. She walked slowly, barefoot, across the smooth, cool concrete floor until she reached the car.

She took a deep breath and reached up to tug on the back corner of the tarp covering it until the whole thing came siding off in a dusty heap at her side - revealing a black, 1969 Z28 Chevy Camaro. Among many other things she and Negan had in common, they shared a love of vintage muscle cars. She had fallen in love with this model a long time ago as an army brat one summer. She remembered that day vividly, licking on melting sherbert ice cream, when she saw one of her father's good friends driving it around. It was a scarlet red color, with black racing stripes. And his father's friend was a tall, muscular, handsome black man with the neatest mustache she'd ever seen.

Michonne ran her fingers along its surface, walking around it until she got to the trunk. It needed a good wash and shine. But she didn't dare let it out of this garage. She was saving it for Andre, for the day he moved in and got his liscense. She was also saving something else - something just for the two of them.

Two million dollars, carefully hidden in a secret compartment in the trunk.

Two million dollars that she had very carefully stolen from Negan with help from her friend Eugene, who was now dead. And Carol. The formerly battered woman who saw a kindred spirit in Michonne the moment they met.

The money, the passports, the escape plan...they weren't just for in case Negan somehow found them. They were for when Michonne and her son could finally be together for good. When he was eighteen, no longer a minor, and able to move about freely in the world. She wanted to travel with him, give him any education he wanted, anywhere he wanted, and allow him to thrive on his own terms.

Her father had passed on his adventurous spirit to her, something Sabine could never understand or take part in, though she tried for years. But finally one day she gave up and became a stick in the mud. Now Michonne and Negan had passed on that spirit to their son. Michonne was determined to address it, and nurture it, the right way, this time.

Or maybe she was crazy. Maybe she and Andre would simply stay here in Atlanta and live quiet, normal lives, like everyone else. Up until last night, she'd been confident that they at least had that option.

Shaking off her dark thoughts, Michonne fetched the key from under the hood and opened the trunk. She checked the secret compartment for her money, and found that it was still there, securely concealed and protected. Satisfied, she closed and locked everything, stashing the key back under the hood.

Michonne replaced the tarp, sneezing sharply from the dust.

When she made her way back into the house, she found it was still as silent and filled with the evidence of her ordeal as it had been before. Of course. She needed to let go of her shock and clean up.

Michonne checked, peering through the blinds in her living room window, and saw an unmarked federal vehicle parked across the street from her house, almost out of view. She knew those were the agents Carol had told her about, and allowed herself to feel a tiny bit better.

When she made it back upstairs, she found Rick still sleeping.

His scent and presence had filled the room while she'd been gone.

She felt comforted by it. By just having him around, even though she hardly knew him.

He was a heavy sleeper. She wondered if that was because he was exhausted by everything that happened last night (including their lovemaking), or because he had odd sleeping habits due to his work as a hired investigator. Maybe a little bit of both. Either way, she didn't want to disturb him yet. She was grateful to him, and he needed his sleep. Besides...she wasn't sure she could stand to have those intense blue eyes trained on hers again without wanting to jump his bones.

Right now, she was overwhelmed with a new desire to take a shower, wash herself of the night, and start fresh. Then clean her house. So she gave her bed a wide berth as she went about cleaning up and readying for her shower as carefully and quietly as she could. Ignoring the pull of his scent, the cut of the muscles in his slowly rising and falling back. His thick, disheveled curls...his pink, pursed lips...those strong, lean thighs and cute, dimpled ass wrapped up in her sheets…

Michonne grabbed her towel and escaped before she crawled into bed with him and woke him up.

* * *

Rick rose up from a deep, dark sleep to realize that the sun was shining in his face.

He slowly forced his eyes open, and the light glared down at him, causing him to groan and crush his eyes shut again. He buried his face into Michonne's pillows. Michonne.

Rick realized that he was not in his own bed, that the sun was shining on him from a different angle than usual, and that Michonne was gone.

He sat up like a slingshot, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of her. She wasn't there - but the room was clean. There were no signs of the struggle from last night except for the mangled dresser, but all of her clothes were stacked neatly on the floor next to it; the busted drawers were empty now.

Rick's gaze lingered on a stack of underwear, folded on top of some shirts. They were mostly familiar to him, he realized, as he'd watched her walk around without pants many times over the past three months.

He scanned the space some more, relaxing a bit, letting it settle over him that he wasn't seeing these things from a distance, through glass, anymore. This morning he was inside, in her bed, with the air smelling of her sex and the lingering aroma of whatever she'd showered with.

He peered at the pictures she'd hung up - the ones he could finally examine up close. Some of her son's school photos were framed and hanging on the wall by the bed, along with photos of family trips with another woman who looked like a slightly older family member, probably her sister. The resemblance was strong. The photos were taken at amusement parks and what looked like national parks. The sister and Michonne's son were pointing up to a Washington monument and beaming in front of a lion's cage at a zoo. The kid was splashing in a fountain in downtown Atlanta, and posing with a school basketball team, trophy in hand.

It made Rick think of his own son. Of the family trips he used to take with Carl and Lori, when they were alive. His heart lurched, and he took his eyes off of the family photos.

Rick now looked around at her things. A big jar of coconut oil, her bottles of lotions, perfume oils, and hair products. Her nurse's uniforms and other clothes hanging up in the closet. There was a book by Octavia Butler and a paperback collection of essays on her nightstand. There was also a photo of herself and her son at Christmas one year, among a ton of shredded, colorful wrapping paper. The kid looked like he was around six or seven maybe, and he was wearing Iron Man pajamas.

Michonne looked younger but also exactly the same.

His eyes moved on to her armchair, where her robe and towel were draped; his jeans and underwear folded neatly in the seat. His shirt was nowhere to be found. He wondered why she let him sleep so long. He certainly needed it. But he was starting to imagine watching her lotion herself after emerging from a steamy shower, her smooth skin tinged with pink from the hot water. He felt himself growing hard again at the thought of her naked ass and perky breasts, her thick nipples begging to be tended to.

Rick sighed and snapped himself out of his daydreams, deciding to go and find her. He wanted to see her face and touch her skin. Kiss her lips. Make sure she was still okay. They'd been so consumed with each other last night; he hadn't given her a chance to properly process, he knew. He'd been trying to avoid acting selfishly on his gargantuan desire for her, but the moment she asked him to come to her, he was done for.

He wondered if her letting him sleep had to do with her getting her head together. So he decided to give her just a little bit longer to have her thoughts to herself, taking his time waking up fully.

He had no idea what he was going to do to curb his obsession with her, now that she'd allowed him into her bed. Last night still haunted him, coursing through his veins, aiding his persistent erection, tugging at him in the pit of his stomach. He slowly crawled out of bed and retrieved his jeans from the seat of the armchair.

He slipped them on, not bothering to go for his underwear, and did them up. His phone was still in his back pocket. He didn't bother to look at it. He didn't want to just yet. This morning, work could wait a little bit longer, too. His belt was draped across an arm of the chair, and he put that on as well, leaving it loosely buckled.

Rick dragged a hand through his thick, mussed hair and hesitated. Unable to stop himself, he reached down and picked up her towel. He stared at it, stroking it with his fingers, and then finally lifted it to his face and inhaled deeply. Her scent was all over it. His cock got harder and he swallowed, returning the towel to the back of the chair.

Rick opened Michonne's bedside table drawer and pulled out one of the condoms laying on top of a stack of magazines inside. He slipped it into his back pocket and left the room.

As soon as he stepped out into the hallway, he smelled coffee brewing downstairs.

And heard the unmistakable sound of bacon cooking. His stomach growled and tightened as the smell of the bacon reached his nose, but his erection did not let up. He made his way barefoot down the stairs and saw that she had cleaned up the mess from last night.

The blood streaks and the scuff marks from his boots were gone. There was now no sign of intrusion. First, Rick walked over to her front door and peered through the little curtain covering the small window on the right side of it, next to the wall. He could see a car parked out front across the street. Good.

He turned back around the corner to find Michonne in the kitchen, wearing his white t-shirt and a pair of white panties, her locs hanging down her shoulders.

Rick stood there in the doorway, his bulge practically dragging his jeans ever downward on his hips, and watched her. Up close this time. Not taking a moment for granted. She was turning the bacon with her back to him, her shapely ass and legs in full view. He admired the way the clingy fabric hugged each cheek. How big and yet perfectly sized his t-shirt looked draped across her lovely body.

She turned off the fire on the bacon and laid it out on a strainer, then moved to the cabinet above the coffee pot, her back still to the door. Her voyeuristic neighbor watched as she opened it to pull down two mugs. He had watched her do things like this over the months, but almost never for two people unless her son was around, and that was rare.

Finally, Rick made his way quietly across the kitchen towards her; drawn to her, in need of her.

The sunlight strobed through every crack it could find in the blinds throughout the house, and the sheer covers on the windows above her sink. The ones he'd watched her through so many times. Wanting to be on the other side - this side, where he could touch her.

He was on top of her before the mugs touched the counter top. Michonne's movements slowed and stilled. She held in a moan as Rick pressed his hard cockprint into her from behind. He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, burying his face into her locs, circling a strong arm around her petite waist to pull her closer to him.

"What's for breakfast?" He breathed, stroking her thigh with his other hand.

"Bacon and eggs." Michonne replied somewhat nervously, closing her eyes and falling back against him, rubbing her ass along the prominent bulge in his low-hanging jeans. She was already wet, her skin tingling underneath the steady stream of his breath as he turned her around to face him, still trapping her within the circle of his arm. "And I made some coffee." She finished quietly, avoiding his intense blue gaze.

Rick smirked, turned on by her sudden shyness. His eyes zeroed in on her lips as he leaned into her, parting her legs slightly with his thigh. He captured her lips with his and squeezed her ass with his good hand, the size and weight of it filling his fingers, pressing his knuckles into the hard surface of the counter behind her.

Michonne widened her legs and rocked into him, grinding her wet pussy against him as his tongue danced with hers. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath his stolen shirt. The feel of her hard, perky nipples and supple, heavy breasts against his chest through the thin cotton fabric made him ache with need.

Rick sucked on her tongue and lips with mounting urgency, wanting to slide the soaking crotch of her panties aside and stroke her deep inside - with _force_. He growled. Michonne gasped.

" _Mmm_ \- wait, Rick!" She mumbled against his lips. It wasn't until she was pushing against him to get him to stop that his eyes blinked open and he saw the look of concern on her face.

Then he pulled back and realized that his hand was bleeding through the gauze she'd wrapped it in last night.

"Your hand…" she whispered, her thick, tender lips pursed with concern. He almost didn't give a damn about his hand. But he was beginning to feel the pain as it registered that he'd opened his wound again with all of his careless lust.

This woman made his head swirl and his cock hard whenever he was around her. She was dangerous. So was he, when it came to her.

Rick thought about that, letting it sink in as he swallowed hard and loosened his hold on her. "Does it hurt?" Michonne asked as she lowered herself from her perch on his hips against the edge of the countertop. She stepped away from the counter, backing him up toward the kitchen island.

He shook his head, eyeing her lips, letting her push her body into his until they bumped into the island. He wanted to grab her again but she let him go and moved away, retrieving the first aid kit she'd used last night.

Michonne was relieved to be released from the incredible hold his attention held on her.

Her underwear was soaked and her nipples were so hard they almost ached to be between his lips, against his tongue...she forced herself to focus on anything else. His hand. _**Fix his hand**_ _, Michonne, and keep your mind off his gorgeous lips._

Michonne got the first aid kit off of the top of the fridge and returned to the kitchen island, where Rick stood examining his hand. "You need stitches, dude." She offered, frowning as she concentrated on carefully unwrapping the bloody gauze.

"You're probably right." He conceded, shifting on his feet around his erection. He winced at the pain in his hand. "I'll go get some later." He didn't want to leave her. Not only because he wanted to make love to her on every surface in her house. "I still don't think you should be alone right now." He admitted. "I shouldn't have left last night, it's just…"

Michonne attentively cleaned the re-traumatized gash of excess blood, but she could feel Rick staring at her. She waited for him to continue, this time not resisting the pull of his body heat as she began to apply liquid stitches to the wound. She found herself leaning into him, her side pressed against his bare chest, their skin caressing each other's.

He didn't finish.

She knew what he meant. She felt his other hand on her thigh, his fingers stroking her in feather-soft circles.

The attraction between them was the most certain thing about any of this. And it was scary, for both of them.

"It's okay. You came back. And there are feds outside." They didn't speak again until she was all done patching him up. "This is just temporary, Rick. You should really get some real stitches."

Rick grinned, rubbing the new patch job appreciatively. "Yes ma'am, I hear you loud and clear."

They stared at each other, now smiling and settling into an easy rapport. "You're such a cowboy, you know that?"

He frowned, not sure if it was a compliment. She simply laughed and stepped into him, giving him a kiss. He wanted to resume their foreplay immediately, but Michonne pulled back again, peeling her lips from his. "Do you want some coffee?"

Rick kissed her again, but nodded, deciding to try and calm down. "I'd love some, thank you."

He could see that she was still getting her head together. He'd better do the same. Last night hadn't exactly been a normal way to get better acquainted. They both knew it, but neither knew what to do with it just yet - except act on what was driving them.

He let her go and she went to continue what she'd been doing before. Rick watched her, glancing over to see that the eggs and bacon were done and probably cooling off. "You want some help?" he offered, deciding to make himself useful.

Michonne glanced back at him as she was pouring. "Sure."

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she prepared their coffee.

Rick got some plates and fixed one for them both, loading up bacon and eggs onto each with a wooden serving spoon he found in one of her drawers. He knew his way around her kitchen. She let that sink in, thinking about it. He'd been serious when he confessed that he watched her every chance he got, then. It sent a tiny shiver down her spine. But she didn't think it was fear she was feeling.

That truth, in the light of day, seemed much more striking to her.

In that same daylight, this version of Rick seemed much more relaxed, his hardened demeanor softened. He looked less haunted, like a shadow of someone he used to be. Someone happy. Someone who knew his way around the peaceful, practiced art of domesticity.

He got them forks and carried the plates over to the island, setting hers in the spot where she normally stood and ate her meals. He set his right next to hers, now taking his turn to avoid her gaze as she brought over their coffee.

"Milk and sugar?" He asked knowingly before she could say anything, and she nodded, watching him retrieve the skim milk she always put in her coffee from the fridge. He found her sugar bowl in the cabinet next to it, and brought them both back to her, this time meeting her gaze. "Am I...is this...makin' you uncomfortable?"

Michonne considered his question, taking the milk and sugar from his hands and turning to tend to her steaming coffee. "Not uncomfortable, just…" she paused just as he had moments ago. "Everything feels so easy. Familiar. But it shouldn't be."

He knew what she meant. It was his fault.

Michonne brought her mug to her lips as Rick came to stand next to her again. They gazed at each other as she sipped, thinking. Studying him. From what she'd heard from those cops last night about his story, and the way he usually carried himself, he seemed like a man with a really dark past. But he didn't seem to fit that past. It shrouded him like a cloud, not something he wore with any modicum of pride or indifference. Her gut told her he was a good man, but it also told her that he was dangerous. She remembered witnessing the blind rage in him as he kicked the stranger who attacked her.

The scariest part was that it excited her. It excited them _both_.

"Tell me somethin' about you." He drawled, trying to break the tension.

Michonne shook her head. "You first." She put her coffee down and crossed her arms. "You saved my life. You took me to bed last night. Now you're standing in my kitchen. Tell me who you are. Why are _you_ always alone?"

Rick nodded, understanding. Of course, she was right. He was pretty much a stranger to her. They had some intense connection neither of them could explain. But that didn't mean he had earned her trust. Not yet.

He didn't want to talk about this. But he owed her the truth. Maybe it would sooth some of her unease, and ease some of his guilt for basically stalking her all these months.

The haunted former cop turned to lean his back against the island counter, forgetting about the food.

He sighed, lifting his gaze to the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. "I came to Atlanta because...because my family was murdered while I was workin' on a case." The stark, grim reality of this news landed in the room like a boulder. "I was married once." He cleared his throat when his voice cracked, and shifted again on his bare feet, gesturing to nothing. He couldn't look at her just yet. "Me and my wife Lori, we had a son. Carl. They were on their way to see me…" he felt the weight of grief creeping toward him, but he pressed on. "They were carjacked. Robbed at gunpoint and shot to death."

" _Oh my god._ " Michonne put her fingers to her lips. "Rick…"

He finally looked at her. "We caught the guy. He confessed. He's in prison now. But...I almost lost my mind. I _did_ lose my mind." He admitted. "Then I lost my job. Right along with the trust of everyone I'd grown up with, including my best friend." His deep accent was heavy with sadness. He squared his shoulders, accepting the weight of it, the immense guilt. "So I left town. Haven't been back since."

"So you just came here, and what…?" Michonne shrugged, shaking her head with mystification. "You're just a different person, now?"

Rick nodded, letting her see the truth in his eyes. His granite jaw was set with stoic resignation. She could tell then - he thought of his life now as his penance.

"I don't buy it," she muttered. "You saved my life. You've been saving people since you got here. You're still the same person." She sighed, reaching up to touch his face. "But you haven't let go of the past at all."

Her stomach growled. They both paused, then laughed quietly. Rick kissed her hand. "Food's gettin' cold."

"Food's already cold." She deadpanned, reaching behind him to pluck one of his pieces of bacon from his plate. He watched her take a bite and chew. "Mmm…but it's good."

They ate a little, standing up, side by side. The energy between them lightened again as they enjoyed their lukewarm breakfast and still kinda hot coffee.

After a while, Rick stood back, gazing at Michonne thoughtfully. "What about you? You're a different person, now, too. You left somethin' behind, just like me."

Michonne met his eyes and shrugged slowly. She scoffed, her eyes shifting from his face to the light shining through her window. Hercules was sunning himself by the plant in the corner, licking at his paw.

"I was barely in my twenties." She began, almost back there right now, at the casino in Ibiza with her rich girlfriends, the night she met Negan Wolfe. She even remembered the crisp, chilly air and the smell of cigars and money in the place. The din of machines going off, dealers calling for plays, ice clinking in crystal tumblers. "He was rich and powerful, charming and handsome...and no one could refuse him."

Rick watched her remembering, riveted.

"I ran away with him. He took me all over the world." Michonne felt hot tears threatening to break through, but she fought them off. Those sights and smells came to repulse her after a while. Penthouses and limousines and guns. Blood. Alcohol on Negan's breath. "He turned out to be a cruel son-of-a-bitch." She shrugged again, her lip trembling as the tears finally fell.

Rick leaned forward and pulled her close to him, reaching up with his free hand to wipe her tears from her face.

"By the time I realized what he really was, what I'd _really_ gotten myself into...it was too late. I was trapped." She muttered, the pain of all those terrifying years invading her thoughts.

"And your son? Andre?" Rick couldn't help asking softly, holding her close, still stroking her skin.

Michonne finally looked up at him. He saw the truth in her eyes. Andre was Negan's. "He was the reason I finally found the strength to get out. Carol was the first person I could trust. She helped me."

"But you lost Andre in the process. And he lost a father."

Michonne nodded sadly. "My sister Sabine has custody." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "For now."

Rick gripped her closer, exhaling sharply. "Now he's sendin' people after you. Why, Michonne?"

The money buried in the trunk of her vintage Camaro flashed through Michonne's mind but she shook her head, reaching up to wrap her hands around Rick's neck. "I haven't seen him in five years, Rick. I got _out_. I never thought he'd find me. But the way he was right before I escaped...I know he's capable of _anything_."

That was what scared him. But there was something else. He couldn't name it, but it was there. Something nagging Rick in his gut, like usual lately. "He could just be tryin' to scare you." He told her, thinking out loud. Reasoning with his own instincts. "Make you think he's still in control, even though you got away from him."

Michonne felt another chill down her back. And this time it _was_ fear. If Negan found out about that money, or their son...she was dead.

"He doesn't know about Andre." She whispered, gazing at Rick with the blistering meaning of that truth alight in her large brown eyes. "Or at least...I never told him. I hid my pregnancy. Told him a family member died and...and…"

Rick didn't need her to finish. He hugged her tight, stroking her back, huffing out a deep breath. She had probably escaped to have Andre and when she didn't come back, Negan had come looking. No doubt her life was in even more danger once he finally got his hooks into her again. And she'd had to have her son raised in secret, without her.

He felt rage burning in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm gonna find out who else is behind this." Rick uttered determinedly. Michonne pulled back to look into his serious face. He stared at her lips, powerless against her beauty, her sadness. "And then I'm gonna put a stop to it. I'm gonna protect you…" his low, earnest drawl turned into an urgent whisper.

Michonne nodded slowly, drawing closer to him. She needed him again. She felt her sex pulsing with desire, and that by now intoxicating pull toward him. And she felt him growing hard against her stomach.

His hands began to roam, sliding across her smooth skin underneath his shirt. He inhaled her scent, the rage in his belly igniting to pure lust just that quickly. He kissed her, hard and slow, gripping her ass and backing her up toward the fridge.

Hercules mewed curiously and paused his lazy licking to watch them as Rick slammed a trembling and wet Michonne against the silver surface of the fridge. The cat hopped up, startled by the rattling appliance and Michonne's high-pitched moan. He skittered across the kitchen and disappeared as Rick hoisted her up, sending magnets and Andre's school reports flying to the floor.

"Reach into my back pocket, baby…" he whispered with the same low sexiness that he had last night when he'd asked to taste her. Michonne whimpered against his lips and did as he asked, reaching around his bare back while wrapping her legs around him. She ground her middle into his by now elongated and pulsing cock before she finally found his pocket. He had a condom from her nightstand in there.

Rick held Michonne up with one arm and reached down to unbuckle his belt and jeans with the other. He tugged them town on his hips, exposing his dimpled ass and long, hard dick.

They kissed with desperate, needy force. She only paused to rip the condom open and guide it onto this thick shaft, feeling it twitch in her hands. When she was done, Rick wasted no time. He grunted as he slammed her back into the heavy fridge, rocking it on its foundation with the power of his thrust.

Michonne cried out loudly, clutching at his arms and shoulders. He fucked her with hard, slow thrusts at first, gripping her thighs and kissing her all over her face and neck. Then she pulled his shirt off, revealing her pretty breasts to him. Rick sucked on her nipples, sending more chills down her spine.

She'd gone through so many emotions and feelings in the last twelve hours, but none of it mattered as he fucked her against her fridge. He slowed down, lost in the feel of her tight, wet walls gripping and pulling at him.

They kissed as she rode him, the cold of the steel against her back warming and steaming over with the heat of their lovemaking.

Until finally they both came. Michonne shuddered and gripped his hair between her grasping fingers. Rick followed closely behind her with another quiet grunt, his abdomen clenching as his cum gushed hot and powerful into the condom.

They panted in the early morning sunlight for a while, allowing themselves to come down from the high of intense ecstasy. Rick knew one thing as he lifted his head and gazed up at her, holding her tight, not wishing let go. He wanted more.

Michonne sighed and kissed his lips. So did she.


	7. the past in parking lots

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _Broken Mirrors', Chromatics_

* * *

Rick got dressed and Michonne put some clothes on, too.

She walked him to her front door, and his phone started buzzing in his back pocket as they reached the end of the foyer. He ignored it, knowing that the second he stepped out, he would be going to work.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with her, and he leaned into her, unable to keep his thoughts from controlling his body. "Can I see you again?"

Michonne didn't think she'd ever get over his voice, or that accent. Or those eyes. She nodded.

"Tonight?" He insisted. He knew she was being watched over, and that she wouldn't have to go into work today, making her vulnerable out in the open. But he didn't like the idea of being away from her all day.

Michonne couldn't wait to see him again. "Okay. I'll cook."

Rick kissed her lips a few times before letting her go, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone as she stepped out of his arms and opened the door. He backed up over the threshold and nodded awkwardly. "I'll see you tonight, then."

"Rick?"

He paused, standing on the porch in the sunlight. It was only around eight or nine in the morning, but it was already shaping up to be a hot ass day. Michonne stood in the cool shade of her foyer, leaning against the door, her shapely body tucked in a pair of tight, denim, high-waisted jeans. Her dark skin glowed gorgeously in a pale blue, pinstriped button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

His squinted over at her and swallowed down another swell of desire. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He felt _he_ ought to be the one thanking _her_. She had no idea how lonely he'd been before she fed him breakfast in her kitchen.

There she was standing there, sexier and more intriguing than ever, especially as he was getting to know more about her. He hoped she'd let him spend much more time with her. He was already addicted to her.

"Anything you need, Michonne." He told her seriously, and turned to walk back to his house - headed to work.

He heard Michonne closing and locking the door behind him, and looked up to see the agents still parked across the street, this time in a different spot.

Somewhat satisfied, Rick finally looked at his phone as he made his way up his driveway and into his house. The blinds were closed, and it was still dark inside, making it blessedly cool against the rapidly descending summer heat.

He had missed four calls from Jessie. He immediately called her back, pacing in his kitchen, smelling Michonne all over his shirt and hands.

"Rick?" Jessie answered with a muffled hiss. He sighed hard at her tone. It was early in the morning, she was probably trying to get ready for work, and she'd been calling him all night. " _Thanks for getting back to me._ "

The bite in her voice made him wince. Okay. Yeah. She was pissed. "Sorry, Jessie…" he attempted, making his voice conciliatory. "I got hung up last night, a neighbor of mine had a break-in."

There was silence for a moment as Jessie accepted his excuse, and when she spoke next her voice was much kinder. Much more like the Jessie he was used to, though she sounded pretty tired, herself. "Well, I hope no one got hurt."

"No, I got there in time. She's safe and sound now."

There was another bout of silence. "Oh. Of course you did, Rick. You're just a regular white knight in shining armor." And then: "Look, I got the information you wanted on those plates."

"Oh that's great, Jessie, thanks." He replied gratefully, glad to move on. That was exactly what he'd been hoping for. He stalked up the stairs in his hallway and immediately went to his favorite window once he'd crossed into his bedroom.

Jessie hesitated again, and he heard her messing around in her kitchen. No doubt her boys would be up soon. Rick didn't exactly want to have to listen to the sounds of her teenaged boys in the background, alive, growing, giving their mother hell. He didn't like the reluctance in Jessie's voice, either.

"What did you find?" He asked seriously, peering through his blinds to see Michonne cleaning up the dishes from their breakfast, smiling faintly to herself. He didn't intrude on her any longer, turning from the window to pay attention to Jessie again.

"The plates, Rick. They were stolen." He nodded to the shadows in his bedroom, figuring as much. "But...they don't belong to the car you described. And actually...uh...well, they're from King County."

Rick felt a brick land in his gut. "What was the name, Jessie?" He asked darkly.

When she spoke next, that brick sank further down his insides, and he stumbled back to sink down into the chair at the window table. "Rosita Espinosa. I looked her up."

She didn't need to tell him what else she'd found. He knew it already. He knew that name. He dreaded the sheer turmoil in Jessie's voice. He'd been obsessively looking for those plates, or the car attached to it, two years ago. Rosita was the -

" - first girl that went missing back in King County." Jessie's hushed voice interrupted (and confirmed) his fear. "One of the girls in that case you were working on."

Rick leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, dumbfounded. How had this crept up on him? Suddenly, after the amazing morning he'd had with Michonne, his mind was all foggy again. "Are you sure?" He growled, gripping the phone in his other hand.

"Yeah. I'm sure. I'm sorry." She confirmed again, sounding contrite. Then her voice stiffened as she continued: "And this has to be the last time, Rick. I can't help you anymore."

Rick crushed his eyes shut. How? _How_ did those plates end up attached to this case? On the car that ran Amy Jones down a year ago? What the fuck was going on? He didn't even acknowledge Jessie's words. His mind was reeling. The thing that bothered him more was why this was considered a cold case. And furthermore, why the Atlanta P.D. was acting so hostile about him checking it out.

"Rick? Did you hear me?" Jessie cut into his thoughts again, sounding impatient now. " _Rick?_ "

He needed answers. He needed help. Help he apparently wasn't going to get from Jessie Anderson anymore.

"Yeah, Jessie. I heard you." He rubbed his chin, feeling stubble developing. "I understand. Thanks for everything, okay?"

"Okay. Sure. I hope...I hope everything works out." He heard the sounds of her boys entering the room with her, and was glad when she muttered a hasty goodbye and hung up.

Rick sat in his chair for a long while, his mind still buzzing with what he'd just been told. He knew that something was pulling him toward this case, but he'd thought it was just the similarities between it and what happened to his family. Shaking off his shock, Rick stood up and dumped his phone on his table, headed to take a shower and think.

He needed someone on the inside to help him do some digging. That person wasn't going to be Jessie, and she'd get caught anyway. She didn't rank high enough or really have the gumption for the kind of dirty work Rick needed. He needed someone he could trust. Someone with steel nerves. Someone who knew the ins and outs of these kinds of cases.

Rick showered, his mind going back to the past. Someone who had experience with the very case he needed looking into. More dread gathered over him like a storm cloud as Rick got dressed in stony silence, already having made his decision while he'd been brushing his teeth.

He just didn't want to do it. With everything in him, he didn't want to call Shane Walsh.

Feeling all the warm, excited feelings from his time with Michonne slowly draining from his mood like sand from an hourglass, Rick slipped on his boots and stalked over to his table again. He picked up his phone and looked through his contacts until he came to Shane's name and number.

Knowing his old friend, that number was still his.

Rick dialed. After what felt like forever of hollow, dull ringing, Shane picked up. "Yeah, who's this?"

Rick took a deep breath and said matter-of-factly: "It's Rick."

There was very weighty pause, during which Rick might have stopped breathing all together. _Come on, man_ he silently urged.

"Holy fuckin shit. _Rick?_ Are you…" Shane was breathing hard, probably pacing around his bedroom, knowing him. Rick could hear the relief and emotion flooding his voice. "Are you fuckin' _kidding me?_ Goddamned it, boy, it's been a _YEAR!_ "

Rick winced and held the phone away from his ear, fighting off a smile. Shane could still yell like the devil, and his mouth was just as foul as ever. "Yeah, it's me."

Shane finally calmed down and got serious, though he was still pacing across the length of his bedroom. "Where've you been? You have no idea…" His voice shuddered, and Rick knew he was holding back tears. "I thought I'd never see you again, you selfish, crazy, depressed son-of-a-bitch!"

Rick laughed in earnest this time, and he found himself feeling better about calling. The past threatened to skewer him at any moment, but he was keeping it together okay. He had no choice. "I've been in Atlanta. And I'm not callin' to catch up, Shane."

Finally, he could tell that Shane had stopped pacing and was standing still. "What is it?"

The disgraced former sheriff's deputy shifted on his feet, placing a hand on his hip. "I need your help. I've been...workin' on a case."

"Jesus…" Shane breathed, sounding disappointed and nervous. " _Still_ , Rick? You're still out chasin' ghosts?"

"You gonna shut up and listen to me? Or are we gonna make it another year before we speak again?" Rick growled, glaring at his window.

Shane grunted and rubbed his chin. "You know what? Sure. I'll listen to what you have to say. In person."

"What?" Rick drawled. _Shit,_ he thought. This was exactly what he'd been dreading.

"You heard me, you stubborn prick." Shane doubled down. "Gimme an address. I'm comin' up to Atlanta, or there's no deal."

Rick clenched his jaw. Shane was the stubborn one here. But he needed his old friend, no matter how much he hated having to wade into the past to solve a mystery that was getting bigger and murkier by the day.

"All right. Grab a pen."

* * *

Michonne was proud of herself for managing not to look up through her windows every fifteen seconds.

If Rick was watching, she didn't want to know. It still gave her goosebumps to think of him over there, standing in his dark house that sat a little higher on the hill than hers. Watching her. Looking out for her. As silent and serious as always.

She cleaned her dishes and made a fresh, hot cup of coffee. Hercules made an appearance again as Michonne made her way up her stairs to the hall closet. She unlocked the safe that contained her gun and removed it, loading it and carrying it into her bedroom.

She put it into the drawer of her nightstand, smiling to herself when she saw that there were still three condoms left.

Then she called Sasha.

"Holy fuck, Michonne." Sasha uttered sharply, alarm coating her voice when Michonne had told her what happened. "Are you _okay?_ What about Andre?"

"I'm fine. Andre's safe. The cops and the FBI are protecting us." She reassured her friend, curling up in her armchair. "Rick, my neighbor...he saved my life, Sasha."

"Wow." Sasha said quietly, seeming to be thinking of what else to say. "How'd he know? It sounds like he got there just in time."

Michonne hesitated. "He…" she shrugged slowly to no one, her eyes watching Hercules curl up on her bed. "He heard me scream, he says. He gave me a ride home and he was just going to bed, himself."

" _He gave you a ride home?_ " Sasha pressed, her voice full of suspicion. Of course she was focusing on that.

"Yes. He gave me a ride." Michonne didn't explain any further, not wanting to lead Sasha deeper down whatever trail she thought she was following to some big revelation about Rick.

Her eyes drifted to her closet. The doors were wide open. The sun was shining. But she couldn't help picturing the man in black standing there, right where he was last night, glaring at her through his ski mask.

"It was really scary, Sash." She admitted. "The guy was in my house. I didn't even know it, until it was almost too late. All these years of being so careful…" Michonne shook her head, frustrated with herself. "And one slip up almost gets me killed. Puts my son in danger."

"It's my fault." Sasha offered guiltily, her attitude softening. "I shouldn't have forced you to get so drunk on a work night."

"It's not your fault, okay? He was coming for me anyway. He'd have found a way...Negan always does."

"You want me to come over?" Sasha spoke up more urgently, not liking the defeated, haunted tone of Michonne's voice one little bit. "I'm coming over."

"Okay." Michonne gave in easily, missing her friend, feeling lonely without Andre. Or Rick.

"Gimme a little while to see if I can get my shift covered, and I'm there. _Don't_ drown yourself in the bathtub you hear me?"

Michonne laughed out loud, horrified, realizing that she'd been crying.

"Shut up. Just get your ass over here."

They hung up and Michonne took a deep breath, wiping her face. Her phone rang in her hand. It was Carol.

* * *

 _Two years ago, on another hot ass day in King County, Sheriff's Deputies Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh arrive at the train tracks along an off road near the highway._

 _They stand at the top of the hill leading down to the tracks. Rick takes off his hat to peer down into the large, hollow, makeshift gully that freight and oil trains use to pass through here day in and day out._

 _In the distance, on the other side of the tracks, dumped in a ditch, is the body of Rosita Espinosa._

 _A bunch of kids had been fuckin' around down here, cutting class, when they stumbled upon her mangled remains._

" _They're down at the station gettin' their parents called right now. Already got their statements. They were chasin' after a hacky sack or some shit," Shane informs his partner, spitting to the gravel beneath their boots. "Found her just like that." He snaps his fingers, causing Rick to squint over at him. "Stupid kids. Coulda gotten themselves crushed on these damn tracks."_

" _How long she been missing?" Rick asks to remind himself, repositioning his hat on top of his thick, short hair and beginning the careful step-and-slide down the hill._

 _Shane follows after him, chewing on a piece of gum to stave of the nausea he usually gets from being around dead bodies. "Almost five months. No tellin' how long she's been down in that ditch. Those Forensics boys ain't here yet."_

 _They finally make it to the crime scene, and Rick fights down a wave of sadness for the girl as they get closer to her final resting place. She is lying on her stomach, and although she is fully clothed, there is a fragment of what looks like women's underwear lying haphazardly in a bush near her body. Probably her underwear. It's an odd detail to an altogether tragic case._

 _No sign of her car. No tracks around the body. Nothing. Her plates are being tracked in a wide sweeping search, but so far they have no leads. Rick doesn't know it now, but they'll never find her killer._

 _He notices that Rosita, her eyes closed in eternal peace, her lips pale and ashen, has a small cut on her cheek. His stomach churns. What the fuck did this psycho_ _ **do**_ _to this poor girl?_

 _After taking note of everything on the scene, Rick and Shane sit in their cruiser at the top of the hill again, waiting for Forensics, reeling from it all._

 _This is a small town. Shit like this just doesn't happen in King County. Not only this, but another girl has gone missing in the five months since Rosita. They have serious work to do, and his small sheriff's office is already starting to struggle under the pressure to get this solved. The press are so far up their asses, half their time is spent fielding calls instead of searching for clues._

 _Rick takes off his hat and sighs, shaking his head. "This is bad. Lori's never gonna let me hear the end of it."_

 _Shane nods, eyeing his partner with one hand resting on the steering wheel. "You know how she is, man. She worries about you out here, that's all."_

 _The older man scoffs, clenching his jaw, but tries to hear his friend out. Shane is always defending Lori, and that's one of the things he both hates and appreciates about their cruiser talks. He doesn't know that Rick and his wife have started to fight more and more lately, and not just about him working so much. He decides to clue his best friend in a little. "She wants to feel safe, secure. She wants a normal, happy life. She wants all this to go away and to have me come home at a decent hour." He gazes through his windshield, where he can see the homicide team swirling around the crime scene down the hill like bees. "But she has no idea what it takes to achieve all that. And she resents me for it."_

 _He thinks about the resentment in Lori's eyes. He sees it more and more lately. Resentment and loneliness. He didn't think it was possible for two people to be so lonely while married to one another. But he does now._

" _She always wants me to talk about it. 'Speak, Rick! Say somethin'!' she says, all the time." He smiles bitterly, lost in thought. "Speak...she doesn't wanna hear what I see out here, day in and day out." His raspy drawl rises as he finds himself righteously angry. His wife cannot understand how hard he is trying to please her, and keep her firmly away from the mental, emotional, physical hell of being a cop. "But there's nothin' I can say to convince her of that."_

 _Shane is silent. Rick knows he doesn't much know what to say, either. He's a bachelor and an easy-going kinda guy. He could never get tied down in the kind of domestic swamp Rick sometimes has to navigate through to keep his marriage alive._

" _What about Carl? How's he dealin' with all this?"_

 _Rick rubs his chin. "I think he's still with me. Truth is, with his school and baseball and this fuckin' case, I don't get to see him much. Another thing Lori's pissed at me for."_

 _Sometimes Rick feels like he's holding the world on his shoulders and a breeze is gonna knock the whole thing down any moment. Shane reaches over and squeezes Rick's shoulder. "Let's solve this thang, man. Then we can work on fixin' your god-awful marriage."_

 _They both laugh, and Rick punches at his friend's arm, glad for one moment of lightheartedness in all this gloom._

 _What they don't know is that Rick will never have the opportunity to fix his marriage. Not even close._

* * *

Rick was sitting in his Bronco, in the parking lot of the Funtime Bowling alley off the Buford highway.

It was still early so the place hadn't even opened yet. The parking lot was deserted. Shane was due any minute now. Rick had been parked there, off to the side of the building, for about half an hour. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, smoking a cigarette out of his rolled down window with the other.

He was thinking of Michonne.

He almost didn't want to change shirts after his shower. He enjoyed the smell of her all over him. He'd only been apart from her for a couple of hours, but already he missed the hell out of her. He hadn't felt like this in a really long time. He found himself wanting to call her, but he had no idea what he would say.

He wasn't a teenager. He would sit on his desire, letting it hum inside him, until he could see her again. That was all there was to it. Until he could touch her soft skin again, and kiss her sweet lips, and smell her enticing smell, he would just have to focus on the job at hand and get on with it.

Speaking of the job, Rick snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed the King County Sheriff's Department cruiser pulling into the bowling alley parking lot.

He watched it advance slowly, instantly recognizing Shane's silhouette sitting in the driver's seat. He wasn't wearing his sheriff's hat, but he had on his aviators. Rick tossed his cigarette and opened the door of his truck, stepping out onto the blacktop in the shade of the building.

Shane parked and sat there staring straight ahead at the brick wall for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he turned and got out of the car, leaving the door open, one leg propped up against the side. He peered over the top of the cruiser at his long lost best friend, and took off his sunglasses.

"Rick." His eyes were shining, but he didn't cry.

Rick nodded, swallowing, feeling the same. "Hey, Shane. It's been a long time."

"Too fuckin' long, brother." Shane declared, walking determinedly now around the front of the cruiser and barrelling into Rick with a big bear hug. "Goddamn, I'm so glad to see, you man!" He mumbled emotionally into Rick's shoulder, clapping him about the back and neck.

Rick accepted the hug, even giving Shane's neck an affectionate squeeze in return. They rested their foreheads against each other's, their eyes closed. "Me, too. I...I didn't think you'd wanna see me, but I'm glad you came."

Shane gave Rick one last squeeze and stepped back, sniffing and wiping his face. "Of course I came. I been worried sick about ya." He gestured to the parking lot at large, his jaw stiffening with a mixture of anger and anguish. "What the fuck did you go off and disappear for? We coulda worked it out, Rick."

Rick shook his head immediately, not raising his voice but making it clear that he did not intend to rehash the past, all the same. "No. Things turned out the way they needed to. Let's leave it at that. All right?"

Shane stood with his hands on his hips, looking like he wanted to argue. But he bit back his retort and nodded stiffly. After a pause in which they could hear the cars driving by on the highway in the distance, he jerked his head to the cruiser. "Get in, let's talk about what I'm here for, then."

Rick watched his best friend saunter around the front of the cruiser again. Shane looked almost exactly the same, except for some new lines around his eyes and a few errant gray hairs in his stubble. Rick imagined _he_ probably looked a lot older by now. He had a lot more gray hair than Shane probably ever would, for one.

He got in the passenger seat and they closed their doors almost in sync, like in the old days. Rick found his ass fit down into the worn out groove of the passenger seat like the old days, too. It even smelled like he remembered - a mixture of coffee, leather, sweat, sun heat, and metal. That smell that only a police cruiser got from all the activity it saw; from its history.

It disturbed and comforted him, how familiar all this shit was. He shook off his nostalgia.

"When the hell are you gonna get a new cruiser?" Rick grunted, grinning over at his friend. Shane rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're hangin' onto it for sentimental value."

"Fuck you, all right? Naw, I'm not hangin' onto it for sentimental value." The younger cop repeated Rick's words in a sarcastic sing-song, turning the engine on so he could roll down the windows. "If you're gonna be a prick, you should know funding's near-bout dried up down there. We're strugglin' man. We had to let a couple good guys go, too. Guys with families." Shane sighed, looking over at Rick seriously now.

Rick felt _deja vu_ hit him again. He was as familiar with this exact look and position from Shane as he was with his own heartbeat. How many times had they sat like this in parking lots, in the cruiser, talkin' shit?

"What's goin' on, Shane?" He asked, despite not wanting to know.

"We haven't really recovered since you left." Shane shrugged sadly. "Since that goddamned case. The press ate us alive." Rick nodded, thinking. Shane moved on quickly, not wishing to raise Rick's hackles again by going too deep into the past. "So...how are you, man? You look like you aged a shit ton." They both chuckled, and Rick accepted the ribbing. Shane leaned back to study his old friend more thoughtfully. "But you look like bein' away's done you some good, too, maybe. Please tell me I'm right."

Rick thought of Michonne again. He found himself nodding slowly. "You're kinda right. It hasn't been easy, but I think things are turnin' around. Shit's still complicated, though."

Shane watched him, a slow grin developing. "Is that sex hair, then? Come on buddy...come on, you old dog, give it up!"

Rick laughed, floored by Shane's ability to peg him so perfectly. He'd completely forgotten. Or rather...he'd sort of blocked it out. It was painful, not having a best friend anymore. They'd grown up together. They were practically brothers. They'd been partners who saw each other every day, knew each other's lives intimately, would fight and die for each other.

He decided to relax a little, just for a minute, and ease back into their old routine again. He'd missed it.

So he gave it up.

"Yeah...there's a woman. My neighbor. She's...she's amazing."

Shane watched the look of dark lust cross Rick's face and grinned wider. "Good for you, brother. How come we couldn't meet at your place? I'd _love_ to meet her."

Rick didn't answer, and Shane instantly realized why. They looked each other in the eyes across the small distance between their seats. Their reunion wasn't permanent. Rick had called him here for a specific purpose. He'd always been a forthright guy, Shane remembered. When he'd said he hadn't called to catch up, he meant it. That included letting anyone from his past know anything about where he lived, or _how_ he lived, or who he associated with, aside from basic, untraceable details.

The younger man's heart sank, but he simply let the truth sink into the air.

Rick tried to lighten the mood once again. He still needed Shane's help.

"I really like her, Shane. A lot. She's a beautiful, incredibly strong woman. All right? That's all you get, you nosey fucker."

"That's really good to hear." Shane spoke after a moment. "I was worried you'd just wither away out here on your own. Why'd you have to go and leave, Rick?"

Okay. He could give his friend this, at least. Fighting off the pain that threatened him, like always, Rick told him the truth. "You saw me right before I left, Shane. I couldn't stay there." He could see that Shane knew exactly what he was talking about. "If I stayed there, I'd have died right along with them, it was just too much." He rasped, hoping that it would be enough and they could move on.

"All right, buddy. All right." Shane sighed hard again, clapping his friend empathetically on the shoulder. "So what's this all about? What am I out here for?"

"You're out here cause you're a manipulative asshole, but...I need your help."

Shane scoffed and smirked, but sat back and listened. It was Rick's turn to get serious.

"That case we were workin' on, Shane…the one that drove me off the force. I think...I think I just found out that it's connected to the case I'm workin' right now." There was dead silence as Shane blinked and the color drained from his cheeks. "I'm trackin' a missing girl, Amy Jones. She's been missing since I left King County. At first I thought - well her _sister_ thought - it was sex traffickers. But now I ain't so sure.

"It seemed like just a coincidence, but this mornin' I found out the plates on the car that belongs to whoever took her _came from King County_." Shane's lips parted, but he didn't speak. He looked absolutely scandalized. "They belonged to Rosita Espinosa, Shane." Rick shook his head, as if shaking it clear of a dense fog. "I thought...it couldn't be. I should've recognized those plates. But you know Jessie Anderson?"

Shane cleared his throat, snapping himself out of his shock. "Yeah. She...she got let go last year. Left her husband, moved on out. Just like you."

Rick blinked. Jessie never told him she moved because she was let go. He kept on: "Well, she works for Atlanta P.D. now. She traced 'em back to Rosita for me. But she can't help me anymore. She's riskin' her job. That's why I need you."

" _Fuck me._ " Shane groaned, crushing his eyes shut and leaning his head of thick black hair against his steering wheel. "You can't be serious. Do you hear what you're sayin' to me, man?" He sat upright again and glared over at Rick. It was his turn to be forbidding, now. "What the fuck, Rick? You're chasin' ghosts again!"

"That is _not_ what this is." Rick growled. "Someone _had her plates_. _Rosita Espinosa's_ plates. Not some random local. That ain't a coincidence. Someone used them to confuse the police. And someone is covering his tracks, Shane. Use your fuckin' _gut_ for once!"

They glared at each other. Rick continued.

"This could be him. He could be keeping her somewhere. Or she's dead already and he's plannin' his next one. You know what I'm talkin' about."

"Yeah, or it could be nothin' like that at all." Shane breathed, his face still pale. "You could be just as paranoid and obsessed as you used to be. Maybe Atlanta _hasn't_ done your ass any good, Rick, ever stop to think o'that?"

"They are _Rosita's_ plates, Shane." Rick reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out a printed photo of the road Amy Jones disappeared on a year ago. The black truck was a dark streak zooming across the frame. The plates had just caught the light as the photo was captured. The numbers were visible. "The police had this information all along and they did nothing. I wanna know why. And I wanna know how deep this shit goes." He leaned forward, getting right in his friend's face. Looking him square in the eyes. "We vowed to catch this guy, Shane. Now it's possible he's taken another girl. Please. Help me prove this isn't what I think it is."

He watched as Shane studied the photo in silence. Finally, he folded it again and slipped it into the shirt pocket of his uniform. "All right. I'll look into it. Let you know what I find."

Rick felt relief flood him, and he nodded gratefully, leaning back in the worn-in leather seat again. "Thank you."

Shane put on his aviators again, only able to offer a tight nod. "Boy, I hope this is nothin'."

"To tell you the truth, I hope it's nothin' too. It was good to see you, Shane." Rick said, opening the passenger door and climbing out of the cruiser. "Call me when you've got news."

Shane watched him go, then rolled down his window and called out to him, one last time. "Hey, Rick do yourself a favor and go surprise that incredibly strong lady of yours, all right? You're less of an asshole when you get laid, remember?"

Rick found himself grinning widely, turning on his heel as he backed up toward his truck. It felt easy and right, having Shane taunt him like he used to. "Yeah, I remember."

"So, put on a decent shirt, bring her some flowers, and wipe that sad ass look off your face, will ya? Has The Beast taught you _nothin'?_ If you're gonna be a bachelor, you gotta act like one, brother!"

Rick laughed good naturedly at Shane's ridiculous old nickname, and just like that, all was forgiven - their past, their estrangement. Shane used to be a stone cold ladies man, and Rick the shy family man. They fell into their roles easily, now. They made a great team, once upon a time. They trusted each other and had each other's backs. It was good to know that it was still the case, after all this time.

"Yeah, yeah. Just call me." Rick gave his friend a salute, then turned and made his way the final few steps to his Bronco. His heart clenched as he said goodbye again to the familiar sight of Shane in the cruiser.

Shane watched Rick drive off first, waiting until he was a good distance away before he pulled the photograph he'd been given from his shirt pocket. He unfolded it again and stared down at it, his hands trembling with fear and rage.

How. In. The. _Fuck?_

He let the photo fall open, glaring up at him accusatorily in his lap as reached into his other shirt pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He sat in his cruiser and dialed, scooting down in the seat, hot with anxiety.

What the fuck were they gonna do? How did Rick find this out? Why hadn't he kept tabs on Jessie Anderson?!

The Master picked up after three rings, his voice as low and deadly as ever. "Why are you calling me at this number?"

Shane shook off the huge chill hearing his master's cold, deep southern drawl caused him. He surged ahead, letting the truth spill from his lips. "We got a problem. Rick found somethin' out. It ain't good."


	8. the sisters williamson, part i

_Written to the musical score of..._

 _'Kids', by Kyle Dixon*_

* * *

Tranquil, warm afternoon sunlight cascaded into the living room where the two friends sat facing each other on brightly colored yoga mats, their eyes closed.

Michonne brought her left leg around so that it was stretching straight out in front of her, her toes pointed upward. Across from her, Sasha mirrored her actions without having to see them. They both positioned the soles of their right feet so that they were pressed snugly against their inner left thighs, almost mirror images of each other.

Slowly, they both stretched their arms up into the air, inhaling as they did. And as they exhaled, they let their arms come down. The two women leaned forward slowly toward each other and wrapped the fingers of their hands around the outer edges of their left feet. Next, they extended their left arms, placing their palms flat on the hardwood floor.

This had been Sasha's idea, since Michonne's routine had been thrown off kilter by the last couple of days' events. She'd shown up at the door already wearing her sporty black Nike yoga outfit, her thick, coily hair braided back and tucked into a neat bun. And she'd been right to suggest it. Michonne definitely felt better.

She could feel her stress beginning to ease off as she inhaled and exhaled, her spine lengthening and stretching.

They stayed this way for a few breaths, and then switched, repeating the dance with their right legs stretched in front of them this time. They continued to breathe and stretch in silence, slowly moving into half bound ankle poses, their arms arched above their tilted heads. Finally, their routine began to come to an end, and eventually they were lying on their backs, arms hugging their knees, one by one, to their chests.

When it was over Michonne lay there in corpse pose, staring at her ceiling. She tried to let the stress and fear from last night lift from her body, into the ether. She tried to focus, but all she could focus on was a mounting number of questions piling up in her mind. _Was_ Negan really the one that sent the man in the mask? If so, what was Carol and the FBI going to do about it? If the answer was wait and see, Michonne didn't know how long she could do that until she was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

The very first option was running, but Michonne knew that could never be a permanent plan. Andre was too young and being on the run was too dangerous. She was strong, and she could probably move through the world anonymously on her own indefinitely - but she couldn't bring herself to condemn her only child to such a life. Not against his will. Traveling with her son was supposed to be about having fun and getting to know each other. Not fearing for their lives at every turn, on every road, in every airport, in every hotel or apartment or villa or alleyway.

There was another option. One that raised the hairs on the backs of her arms and neck as she lay there, watching the sunlight move across the off-white surface of the ceiling in the silence. It too was incredibly dangerous, but it offered her the irresistible possibility of being able to control the outcome of her situation. It could be her only way to make absolutely _sure_ that Negan would never come after her again, _if_ that was what he was doing now.

She should have done it before, but Carol had talked her out of it.

She knew him, inside and out. She knew what he could never resist. It had imprisoned her before, but now it could be the means to her freedom. So she held her cards to herself closely. If she had to play them, she wouldn't hesitate.

Her mind had reeled in circles all morning waiting for Sasha to arrive, going over and over the possibilities of what the fuck he could be up to. Was he just trying to scare her? Fuck with her? Mess her life up enough to remind her who was boss, like Rick said? Maybe that was part of it, but Michonne knew it couldn't possibly be that simple. Not with Negan - he was a shrewd, criminal _maniac_. If he was up to something, he was _really_ up to something. The problem was that his enemies usually never figured out exactly what until it was too late (one of the reasons it took so damn long to capture him in the first place).

"'Chonne...I can _hear_ the wheels turning in your head, girl." Sasha moaned, sitting up on her elbows and opening her eyes. She huffed out a breath of exasperation as Michonne sighed and slowly sat up on her elbows, too. Sasha shrugged, her open hands flopping back onto her lime green yoga mat. "Obviously the yoga isn't helping, so just come out with it. What's going on in there?" Michonne recognized the same look of concern in her best friend's eyes now as the one in Carol's last night.

She was silent for a few beats more, finally sitting upright all the way, trying not to slouch. Beads of sweat were collecting on her neck from the warm sunlight even though the AC was on. She frowned slightly, her lips pursed. "No it's not the yoga. The yoga's good."

Michonne smiled to reassure her, but Sasha wasn't buying it. Her protective friend sat up all the way and slid her hands across her outstretched legs until they met Michonne's feet. She wiggled Michonne's toes through her black ankle socks, causing the other woman to laugh and jerk her feet away, swatting at Sasha's hands. "What is it, _really_? I'm here. My shift's covered, I'm not going anywhere." The genuine look of empathy in Sasha's deep brown eyes comforted and reassured Michonne, and she let her resistance to confessing her thoughts ease off. "Talk to me."

"Carol said she'd figure things out, but…" she shrugged. "I don't know how long I can wait, just to to let Negan get closer and closer, if that's what's really going on. I spent two years waiting to get away from him before. I can't go through that again." Michonne exhaled deeply. "All I want to do right now is take Andre and make a run for it."

"Don't you _dare_." Sasha said immediately in a low, serious voice. She gave her friend's foot a swift but deserved slap. "Where the hell is Sabine when I need her? Are you _kidding_ me?"

"I know, I _knooow!_ " Michonne bemoaned, squeezing her eyes shut and covering them with frustration, her loose locs falling from their high bun now swinging over to cover her hands. "God, don't bring Sabine into this! You know, _she's_ doing exactly the same thing, Sash." She found her frustration growing, remembering what Carol had called to tell her that morning about advising Sabine to take her baby to some lake house all the way out in fucking California.

"Yeah, but they're _laying low_ under FBI protection, 'Chonne. There's a difference, and you know it. Negan is dangerous, and you'd be _devastated_ if Andre got caught in the middle of all this a lot more than he already is. If he got _hurt_."

Sasha was never afraid to say what needed to be said. And she was right.

Michonne hated it, but so was Carol. Being with her was too dangerous right now. All her hopes for the summer seemed to have blown away in a breeze that stunk of Negan Wolfe's handiwork. She couldn't bring herself to think about what she would feel if Andre was hurt, ever. She found tears brimming in her eyes and wiped them away before they could fall.

"I could never forgive myself if anything happened to him, Sasha." She whispered, her gaze locked on her friend's. Sasha nodded slowly, now reaching up to squeeze Michonne's hand.

"I know." She offered a small, reassuring smile. "But you know Carol's got your back. She's gonna make sure you and Andre are protected. Just don't do anything stupid." She frowned and folded her legs to scoot closer on her butt, still grasping Michonne's fingers. "Promise me."

Michonne nodded, taking a deep breath. She wasn't going to mention Plan B. She didn't think it was worth the lecture, or the alarm it would raise in her friend. Sasha might want to move in permanently. Carol might put her on house arrest and tap her phone. "I promise."

Satisfied, Sasha gave Michonne's leg another light slap. " _Good_ , Crazy. You gotta slow your roll. This ain't Terminator and you are not Sarah Connor, okay? Now come on and help me change the sheets on Andre's bed. I like his mattress a lot better than yours."

 _Rick certainly didn't complain about my bed last night_ , Michonne thought, but said nothing as she rolled her eyes and slapped Sasha's shoulder back. They continued their little tag war like rival siblings as they both got up and cleared the living room space of their yoga mats and towels.

* * *

The two friends spent the next couple of hours setting up Andre's room as a guest room for Sasha, then tending to the arduous task of half-carrying, half-pushing Michonne's busted dresser down the stairs and into the garage so the boy wouldn't have to see it. He was worried enough about her without seeing the evidence of the damage that had been done firsthand. They covered it in an extra tarp she had stuffed into a plastic storage bin until she could have it taken away.

On their way out of the garage, Sasha eyed the covered car curiously as she always did, but said nothing. She'd given up asking Michonne why she wasn't keeping that sweet ride for herself. Saving it for another seven and a half years for Andre just didn't make sense to her. But Michonne loved her son and liked to splurge on him. Sasha didn't often leave well enough alone, but she couldn't snoop about _everything_. She had a life of her own to lead, too.

Once everything was done and things finally felt like normal again, they drifted up to her bedroom with popcorn and wine for lunch.

Now Sasha alternated between sipping white wine and munching on handfuls of chocolate drizzle popcorn from her cross-legged seat on the bed. She raised an eyebrow as the slim, fit-bodied other woman stood in her full-length mirror anxiously trying on a berry-colored, low-cut romper that was way too nice to be just for Andre.

She knew it wasn't for Sabine, either. The stern Williamson sister would be dropping him off later to see his mother and pick up a few things, like the brand new game console she bought him so they could play it together over the summer. _Michonne. Always splurging,_ Sasha thought.

Knowing Andre's little hard-headed behind, he'd probably complained until Sabine agreed to make a stop here. Then Carol and her broody partner would show up to take them both to a private plane headed for Fresno.

Meanwhile, the elegant garment hugged all Michonne's curves, even while draping loosely in all the right places to make room for them. Sasha's suspicions about what exactly had transpired last night after her mysterious neighbor's rescue were already peaked. But _this_ sexy little number Michonne was currently contemplating wearing for the rest of the evening sent bells ringing in the other woman's mind.

"You got dinner plans you didn't tell me about?"

"Maybe...with my neighbor Rick?" Michonne finally confessed with a wince. She was surprised she'd been able to hold out this long without getting the third degree. She turned around, her dark skin looking radiant in the soft, deep berry fabric under the late afternoon sun. Even the bruise on her thigh looked less ripe and garish, half-hidden by the loose, pleated shorts. Her gold 'M' charm necklace made a simple, yet elegant accessory.

She looked good. Too damned good. Though she always looked pretty, Michonne hadn't made this much effort in a long while. Sasha hadn't forgotten any of the stories from those years the worldly other woman had spent traveling, living a lavish, expensive life on a crime lord's dime. Michonne could _dress_. Though this outfit was simple by those standards, tonight she was dressing to give herself nerve and poise around a particular man, there was no doubt about it.

"Okay that's it." Sasha put the bag of popcorn aside and gave an accusatory gesture with her wine glass. "I have been very patient all day for you to quit lyin' like a teenager sneakin' home after curfew."

Michonne looked forbidding but guilty as hell as Sasha glared at her with amusement. They stared at each other. Michonne reached for her wine glass from her windowsill and took a sip of her Malbec, keeping her mouth shut. Suddenly, the petit, honey-brown paramedic's eyes went as large as dinner plates.

She cocked her head to the side, her eyes still wide, more dots connecting in her mind. " _Did you fuck him?_ " When Michonne could no longer keep a straight face, Sasha jumped from the bed, almost spilling her wine but definitely spilling her popcorn. Hercules hissed and jumped down from his napping position, disappearing from the bedroom on quick feet for a fat yellow furball. "Oh my god Michonne, you _fucked the shit_ out of him - you dirty, rotten liar! I _knew_ it!"

Feeling equal parts embarrassment and pride, Michonne was just glad Maggie wasn't there so they could double team her. Sasha continued, circling her friend in front of the mirror, putting on her best 'Michonne' impersonation, swinging her imaginary locs with a look of regal indifference.

"' _Oh, please, I just think he's handsome, that's allllll, Sash.'_ Bullshit!"

"Okay...okay...stop gloating and help me!" Michonne dismissed her, drinking down another helping of wine. "Does this look stupid? Like I'm trying too hard? It's been awhile, you know."

She couldn't believe she was so nervous. She knew how to handle men. But this one...he confused and excited her in ways she hadn't experienced in a long time. Rick made Michonne feel more alive with desire than any man had made her feel since...Negan. It was scary. She felt like she was skipping enthusiastically toward a tornado, but the pull was too strong to ignore.

"Nuh-uh." Sasha shook her head. "No skipping the juicy details, bitch. Tell me _everything_."

Michonne smirked and rolled her eyes again, actually welcoming the distraction from her nerves about seeing Rick again. Or Sabine.

She made it a point to keep her interactions with her sister brief and cordial at least, but they really only saw each other when Sabine was dropping off or picking up Andre. They tried for holiday dinners together sometimes, but they usually ended up fighting, so these days they mostly kept to their own lives unless it concerned her son.

She and Sasha sat down cross-legged across from each other on the bed and they shared the bag of popcorn, which surprisingly went pretty well with the wine. "You were attacked last night. You mean to tell me that bastard had the _nerve_ to make a move on you after - ?"

"No, he did _not_. _I_ made the move on _him_. Stop it." Michonne cut her off, slapping her thigh. Sasha made a face around a mouthful of popcorn and slapped hers right back. "He was actually...very sweet. And protective. And...sexy. _Holy shit_ is that man sexy."

Michonne smiled softly to herself, and she told the story of the ride home Rick gave her last night. How sexy he looked under the red tint of the stop light and the taillights of the cars surrounding them, describing what he did for a living. About how voracious he was while he was defending her, fighting without hesitation or fear to keep her safe. How he stood and watched over her while the cops were there. How he ended up carrying her up to her bed and giving her some of the most intense orgasms she'd ever had. How insatiable he was, ignoring pain, ignoring breakfast, ignoring standard protocol for the strangers they both were to each other. His eyes gave away his overpowering desire for her all that night and all this morning, right up until he turned to head back to his house next door. And she was going to get to look into those gorgeous blue eyes of his again tonight. Engage with all that intensity some more. It was becoming a little bit of an addiction already, and they had only just started.

She left out some details - Rick's personal tragedy was his own business to tell whomever, but not hers. And she didn't think Sasha would understand about Rick's little secret. Besides, she felt like it was actually _their_ little secret. Something to be kept just between the two of them. There was no denying that it turned them both on, him watching her. She hadn't even begun to properly examine why, and suddenly she didn't want to. Not right now.

"Well, I'll be damned…" was Sasha's only response when Michonne was done describing their 'breakfast'. "I gotta admit, I didn't really think you had it in you after you practically ran from Heath." She shrugged, sipping her wine. "But I guess the pussy just wants what it wants."

"You asshole!" Michonne laughed, her smile spreading so wide her cheeks hurt. Sasha raised her glass in salute, not bothering to apologize. "Okay, you may be right, a little bit. But the truth is, he saved my life last night. If he hadn't been here, Sash…"

"I get it. I'm glad he was here, too." Sasha rubbed her arm affectionately. "I mean, I know you can take care of yourself, but still. This guy being a trained cop and _obviously_ super into you, those all seem like good things right now, I'll admit."

"Thank you. Finally."

"Just - "

"Be careful, I know." Michonne finished for her. She blinked, resting the rim of her glass against her lips, thinking. "He said he'd help me find out what's going on."

"Well, he's a private investigator, right?" Sasha reminded her of the conversation in his car she mentioned. "So let him do some digging. You're right, the FBI might get tied up in bureaucratic crap. Or sell you out just to nab Negan. Just, you know…"

Michonne now rolled her eyes hard over the rim of her glass, finally taking another sip. "Yeah, Sasha. I _got_ it. Be careful."

Sasha raised her hands in surrender and bent her head. "I'm just saying. You know I have to."

She couldn't blame her friend for being worried about _everything_. Michonne was a magnet for trouble, there was no doubt about that.

They were interrupted when they heard Michonne's phone buzzing from the bedside table. She paused and reached over for it, her face lighting up when she saw that it was a text from Rick.

' _What's your favorite color?'_

A man of few words, even when he wasn't actually speaking. She wasn't surprised. She found it attractive, like everything else about him.

Her smile grew, and Sasha leaned forward to try to get a glimpse of what had her looking so touched and turned on at the same time. Michonne felt her heartbeat quicken and that pussy of hers Sasha mentioned earlier give a tiny little jolt of arousal.

She unlocked her home screen and typed in a quick reply to Rick's message.

' _Interesting Q for a first text. It's purple.'_

There was a short pause as she watched the blinking little ellipsis bubble linger at the bottom of her text message screen. She knew he couldn't be writing a big long thing, that didn't seem like his style. So he must be hesitating. Then finally, his response:

' _Suits you. See you at 8.'_

Sasha, who was of course reading over her shoulder, wanted to know just why he would ask such a question. So did Michonne, but she quickly closed her home screen again and snatched her phone away from her nosey friend's prying eyes.

"Oh yeah, this is _definitely_ gonna be an interesting night." She confirmed to herself, sipping her wine, lobbing copious side eye at Michonne.

" _So?_ What do you think of this getup?" Michonne decided to change the subject to distract Sasha, sort of. "Too much like a single mom who hasn't been on a date in a while?"

Sasha fixed her with a look. "You're gorgeous, don't be silly. Besides, he sounds like he's seriously sprung on you." She smirked. "And don't even pretend like you won't be putting out tonight, either. Just go with it."

Michonne nodded, taking a deep breath. "You're worse than Sabine, but...thanks. I guess."

"Oh now I _know_ you're a liar." Sasha laughed outright at the comparison, as her friend expected her to. She paused, getting serious for just a moment. "You gonna be okay? I know seeing Sabine is sometimes...rough."

Michonne took a deep break and nodded. "Yeah. I'll be fine. Big Sis is pretty predictable by now."

Taking her friend's word for it, Sasha got to her feet. "Come on, let's figure out what the hell you're supposed to be cooking tonight. You should at least feed the man before you fuck his brains out."

"One, fuck you. And two, oh my god, _yes_ \- _thank you._ " Michonne retorted sarcastically and then gushed, downing the rest of her wine.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You remember, you could've had this at Grady's Christmas Eve party last year. Abe was all set to record it and put it on PornTube and everything. _You_ blew it with all that ' _I have to get home to call Andre at midnight!'_ crap. Come on I need more wine." She proffered a finger at her friend. "You owe me."

Michonne didn't argue. She was so glad Sasha was here to make her feel normal, and safe, and validated. They hugged each other tightly, heading down to the kitchen with their popcorn to refill their wine and begin the adventure of searching Michonne's fridge.

* * *

Sabine and Andre sat in silence in the back seat of a black defense-grade SUV as they made their way toward Reece park to see Michonne. They were being followed by another black government-issued vehicle - this one a surveillance van.

The sun was fading, casting beautiful colors across the sky as they rolled steadily along. Their escorts sat up front scanning the traffic around them, content to leave the kid and his aunt be for the duration of the journey.

Sabine was grateful for the privacy. The two stern-faced agents were making sure they weren't being followed, doing their jobs. She finally felt safe for the first time since this whole ordeal started.

She didn't quite know what to say to the silent kid sitting next to her. She didn't exactly approve of making a pit stop at the scene of the crime when there were still so many unanswered questions. But she loved her nephew, and he missed his mother. He was worried about her.

Sabine couldn't deny him a chance to see her, to verify with his own eyes that she was safe and sound. No thanks to _herself_ , of course.

All this nonsense about forgetting to arm her home, after all she'd been through, after everything she'd sacrificed to get away from that odious monster Negan.

It was unacceptable to Sabine. Andre was already set to come and stay for the summer, what if he'd arrived just one day earlier? What if he'd been there when that man broke in? What if this suspicious-sounding neighbor of hers hadn't happened to be around and alert enough to recognize signs of trouble? What _then?_

Andre was the most important thing that either of them had between them. His life was more precious than theirs, and if anything jeopardized that, it would destroy them both. They might never recover from it. They might never speak again. And Andre's life, wasted. For what?

Years and years of bad decisions.

Sabine knew Michonne loved her son. But sometimes she wondered what the hell was going through her younger sister's head.

She turned from her view of the passing scenery through her bulletproof window to gaze at her nephew.

He sat with his hands folded across his lap, his skinny legs sprawled out before him, slouched down into the seat next to her. His seatbelt nearly swallowed him whole. He was an intelligent, confident, sporty kid but he was also slight and sensitive. He had his Beats on, making a dent in his thick baby locs, but she knew the music was low enough for him to hear her.

He could never resist arguing his point, so he wanted to be ready in case she decided to lecture him again about why it wasn't safe to go to his mother's house.

A house he wanted to move into so badly he could hardly wait, she also knew.

She had no intention of arguing with him now. She could save _that_ for Michonne. After all, he got his stubbornness from his mother. She knew Michonne was not exactly happy about having her big sister whisk her son away to California without talking to her first, no matter what the circumstances.

Well, she would just have to get over it. Uncertain times called for decisive measures. Their father taught them that. Of either of his two girls, Colonel Reuben Williamson had rubbed off on Michonne the most. So Michonne would understand, in the end, Andre's safety had to come first.

For now, the older of his daughters had to make sure she was still in good standing with her beloved nephew. She'd do anything for him. Including put further strain on her relationship with her only sister to protect him.

"Andre Anthony...look at me." She said, her deep voice resounding in the back seat softly, but firmly.

She blinked at his small, handsome young face until he finally turned his big brown eyes to hers. He looked petulant for a moment, but she stared him down until he relented. He was a good, respectful boy. He couldn't stay angry with her. She was his Aunt Sabine. They'd been through everything together.

"Yes ma'am?" He asked as he pulled off his giant purple Beats until they hung awkwardly around his tiny nine year old neck.

She could hear John Legend's ' _Let's Gift Lifted Again'_ sounding softly from them until he fished into his jeans pocket for his iPhone and paused the music. She fought off the urge to roll her eyes at his far too mature taste in music. It was Michonne's influence, of course. Because of course, Sabine wasn't too sure what kids were supposed to like these days.

Taking her time to articulate herself with purpose, as was her way, Sabine clasped her hands together in her lap as she spoke. "Please don't ever think that I _want_ to keep you from your mother. Some circumstances are simply beyond my control. My priority is to keep you safe." She began earnestly. He frowned, as this was rare for him, seeing her so open and soft-handed with him. "Do you believe me?"

After a moment of consideration, he nodded as best he could around his enormous headphones. "Yes ma'am." He repeated with more confidence this time.

Sabine smiled slightly, nodding her head with relief. "Good. Now, we're going to go, and we're going to pick up your things, but we _cannot_ stay long. Do you hear me?"

Andre huffed out a breath, his expression growing dark with resistance again, but he nodded. "Okay. Fine."

"We have to be on time for our flight. That Agent Peletier and whatever his name - ?" Sabine waved her hand dismissively, frowning with distaste at the big agent's surly demeanor, even if she couldn't remember his name.

" _Daryl_ , Auntie." Andre informed her, rolling his eyes on the sly.

"Yes, Agent...uh...Daryl...are personally escorting us all the way out to a private airfield, so we can't linger." She softened her sternness and reached over to stroke his thick, beautiful hair. He immediately reached up behind her to smooth it back into place, whatever he considered that in his adolescent head. "And we are going to have fun in Fresno! By the lake! It's beautiful out there, you'll see."

"Sure. Can't wait." He said in answer, pulling his headphones back onto his ears. She sighed and watched as he pushed play on his music again. They were pulling off onto the exit that would take them into Michonne's neighborhood.

Sabine concentrated now on collecting herself to see her sister, letting Andre's coldness with her go. He would come around, she'd make sure of it. They had to be _safe_. That was all that mattered.

* * *

Michonne and Sasha made dinner together.

Sasha continued doing her thing where she made fun of Michonne while at the same time being supportive and encouraging. After surveying the eclectic collection of groceries in her kitchen, they decided on a sort of surf'n'turf. Tender steak cutlets, jumbo shrimp and stuffed, roasted red tomatoes grilled in the oven, with a garden salad and mashed sweet potatoes on the side. And of course, more wine, plus some soda for the kid.

The house was smelling divine by the time early evening fell. Michonne knew Sabine would want to rush through the pleasantries and head to the plane, but she was determined to at least be able to serve Andre a plate before Rick got there.

She just wanted thirty minutes alone with her son to look at him and talk to him. To make him laugh and laugh at his jokes, because she knew he would need to be reassured that she was okay while he was gone.

And she had to get some things straight with Sabine. Michonne knew the sorts of conclusions her older sister was likely drawing, and she wanted to nip them in the bud right away. She didn't want Andre to have to listen to Sabine badmouth his mother the entire time they were away together. Knowing Carol, the seasoned F.B.I. agent had probably already defended her, but Michonne could stick up for herself.

Early evening announced itself as the streetlights outside started to glow, the darkening sky streaked with pinks, purples and grays. Michonne and Sasha tried not to drink too much or nibble on too much of the food as they prepared everything and waited.

Finally, the doorbell rang at around six forty-five.

Michonne and Sasha exchanged looks.

Sasha followed her friend to the foyer, where Michonne unlatched all the locks and opened the door. The first thing that happened was a tiny little woosh of air and a loud, relieved " _Mama!"_ as Andre barrelled his body into Michonne's.

A great swell of relief assaulted her as her son hugged her tight, and she immediately wrapped her arms around him to return his affection. Her eyes only briefly registered her older sister Sabine stepping into the house from the porch, accompanied by a grim-faced FBI agent who nodded at her respectfully before sending _his_ eyes to catalog everything they could catch of their surroundings.

"Hey, peanut!" She whispered, kissing the parts of the sides of his face that she could get to around his headphones, wiggling him back and forth in her arms. "Ohhh, I _missed_ you!"

"I missed you, too, Ma." Andre whispered into her soft, pretty clothes, his eyes shut tight. Everyone waited patiently, though a bit awkwardly, for the kid and his mother to finish reuniting. When they released each other he grinned and rushed toward Sasha.

His big sister from another mister knelt down and opened her arms. Her smile was wide and radiant as Andre threw his tiny arms around her neck and hugged her with equal fervor. "Hey, Sasha! I'm so glad to see you, too."

"Me too, punk." Sasha deadpanned, punching him lightly in the stomach as she strong-armed him, giving him kisses too. "You grew like ten feet since I last saw you! Abraham's gonna wanna wrestle you, you better be careful."

"Ah - there will be _no_ wrestling, thank you." Michonne cut in. Sasha and Andre made secretive faces at each other that belied their obedience of her command.

"Hello, Sasha." Sabine said cordially as the younger woman released her nephew and stood up again. Then her serious, stern eyes drifted to her younger sister, who'd been watching her son and best friend interact, avoiding her gaze. "Michonne. Hello."

Finally Michonne turned to regard her, smiling faintly, as much as she could muster under the circumstances. "Hey, Sabine. Thank you. For bringing Andre."

"Of course…" Rare tenderness passed across Sabine's expression for a moment. She paused to tilt her head toward the tall white man standing silent and stoic in their midst. "Aren't you going to do your thing now?" She asked him tersely, setting her purse down on the small table behind her.

He hesitated for a moment, bristling at her tone, but cleared his throat and gestured in the affirmative. He turned to Michonne, pulling a folded bundle of papers from his inner jacket pocket and handing them to her. "Please carefully review and sign this. We've been authorized to set up a surveillance detail on these premises, the logistics of which are laid out there for you."

Michonne and Sasha exchanged looks again. This was the other thing Carol said Michonne wasn't going to like. They were going to put cameras all around the outside of her house, and there would likely now be a surveillance van parked somewhere out of sight instead of just a single car unit.

"We're going to set up in back first, the cameras will cover the entire north side of the hilltop. I'll be outside, in case you need anything. Name's Agent Tobin Rhodes. Agents Peletier and Dixon should be here soon."

"Thank you." Michonne replied somewhat reluctantly, but gratefully. He nodded and backed out, closing the door firmly behind him.

She was beginning to feel the prickly sensation of tension creeping into her pores, remembering how her every move was watched when she was with Negan.

"So did you pack his things?" Sabine asked almost as soon as the latch clicked shut. She couldn't help herself. Being in her sister's modern, cavernous loft house always made her uncomfortable. She didn't belong here, and she didn't see how Andre could have a fulfilling home life here, either. It was so...gloomy, to her. So filled with Michonne's memories and regrets from the past.

Andre frowned, Sasha fought not to roll her eyes, and Michonne sighed quietly.

"Actually, I was kinda hoping Andre could stay to have some dinner." She challenged, crossing her arms.

Sabine stiffened, but Andre immediately went into an excited fit. "Yes! _Can_ we, Auntie!? I'm _really_ hungry and it smells pretty good in here. What'd you make, Ma?"

"It's a delicious surprise, peanut." Michonne answered, feeling triumphant.

He was already taking off his headphones and backpack, setting everything unceremoniously to the side on the hardwood floor. Unbeknownst to most of them, right in the spot where Rick had stomped her attacker's guts in the night before.

That was it, then. It was settled. They were staying so her son could eat, and spend some precious time with his mother.

Sabine wasn't surprised, but she was annoyed with the ambush. Tit for tat was the name of the game tonight, apparently.

"Fine. Of course. But let's get his things and have them ready." She stepped further into the house, her nose finally registering the delicious smell of whatever it was that Michonne had prepared. She was getting a little hungry, herself. "We need to be on the plane on time, so that these people can do their _job_ and make sure we make it to Fresno _safely_. I want to spend as little time with Agent Pelletier and her lumberjack as possible..."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Michonne watched as Andre excitedly tore into the box for his new Nintendo Switch.

He read all the instructions and immediately began putting it together, turning it on to check out the game that came with it. She had to physically restrain herself from kissing his face and hugging him tight as many times and for as long as he would allow her.

"Mama, this is awesome! Aunt Sabine said I could have one if I got all A's last semester, but I got two B's, so…"

"Yuh-oh." Sasha flinched, bracing herself for the inevitable disapproval that was probably coming from Sabine.

Andre's jaw snapped shut as well, understanding by Sasha's reaction and the stiffening of his aunt's shoulders that he'd said something potentially wave-making. He was no stranger to being caught in the middle of their estrangement, making most of his visits with his mother while Sabine was around super awkward for the past five years.

"Ahhh...hm. Well, your Auntie didn't tell me that." Michonne replied, trying not to make a big deal out of it. But of course she failed, and she couldn't help adding: "Even though _I'm_ your mother." She turned to regard her sister. "But I guess it doesn't matter because this one's yours to keep."

"Michonne, now really isn't the time to get into - "

"Why not, Sabine?" Michonne lost her temper finally. "When's a good time? You don't include me in these kinds of decisions. You've already had him all semester. And now, at the first opportunity you can find, you're taking him away again. Just _when_ do you think it'll be okay for me to have a say in my own son's life?"

" _When_ _ **you**_ _stop putting him in danger every time you turn around._ " Her older sister snapped in a low, bitter voice.

Sasha and Andre both saw Sabine's poise break at the same moment, as did Michonne. No one could push Sabine's buttons like her little sister, and visa versa.

In the distance, they could hear the faint sounds of F.B.I. agents installing cameras and lasers that triggered silent alarms around the perimeter of her house.

"Sasha, take Andre to get the rest of his stuff packed so he can eat. I need to talk to my sister alone."

Michonne's chilly tone gave no room for any kind of argument. Sasha simply gestured with her chin for Andre to come with her. The skinny kid sighed hard and got to his feet from his sitting position on his bed. He glanced back at his mother and aunt, inner turmoil burning in his deep brown eyes, before finally following Sasha out of the room.

"Okay." The youngest Williamson sister uttered stonily, crossing her arms and meeting Sabine's gaze head on. "Go ahead and say it, Sabine. Tell me all about what a terrible mother I am."

Sabine took one look at the restraint Michonne held in her body language and softened. She could see the guilt and fear in her sister as plain as day. She was concerned about, disappointed and frustrated with Michonne, but she couldn't totally blame her for feeling left out - or even a little betrayed. "I don't…" Sabine sighed, turning to sit on Andre's bed. "I don't think you're a terrible mother, Michonne." Her head jerked upward and she frowned hard. "But you _are_ reckless, and you're so damned _stubborn_ , you can't admit it."

Michonne's anger deflated as well. She blinked hard, her insecurity about her choices - all of them, since the day she decided to leave Negan - flaring up again in Sabine's presence. "I did everything I could to protect Andre. You have no idea how much I went through to get out."

"You're right, I don't. Because you shut me out. The only person who would know is that awful Peletier woman." Sabine huffed. "But I _do_ know how much it takes to _stay_ out. Negan Wolfe is behind bars, but as long as he's alive _you're_ the woman who betrayed him."

Finally, Sabine stood again, walking toward Michonne, trying to choose her words carefully.

"A man like that doesn't forget his enemies."

"Don't you think I know that?" Michonne growled. "Don't you think I spend _every day_ fearing that? I've changed my entire life, fearing this man! I...I shut you out because getting involved with me wasn't _safe_ , Sabine. What more can I give up to convince you? Should I have traded one prison for another?"

Sabine bristled again. "And how is trading one dangerous man for another any better?"

Michonne squinted hard at her sister. " _What the hell are you talking about?_ "

"Oh _please_." The elder Williamson scoffed. "Agent Peletier told me that mute man living next door _also_ broke into your house last night. And you let him stay here? Didn't you yourself say there was something off about him? You _don't know anything_ about him!" Michonne felt anger and defiance churn her insides like gears in a factory as her sister shook her head with disapproval. "What were you thinking, Michonne?"

"He didn't break in. He stopped the man who did this. He protected me and he stayed to make sure I was safe."

"That is what the F.B.I. is for. You don't need some strange man with a murky past oozing around your bed _or_ your son right now. If Negan Wolfe is still the man you've told he me is for years, doesn't that mean he'll use every dirty trick in the book to get to you?"

"And what, you think _Rick_ is one of them?" Michonne turned around in a circle, flabbergasted.

Sabine shrugged forebodingly. "I have no idea. But neither do you. Why can't you just, for once, listen to me? Why do you _always_ think you know better?"

"Back off, Sabine." Michonne warned. She took a deep breath and adopted her sister's way of speaking carefully, so there was no confusing her point. "I know that you think you're acting in Andre's best interest all the time." Sabine opened her mouth to retort, but Michonne cut her off. "You might be right about keeping him away from here with people coming after me - but keeping him from _me_ is no longer going to work. You don't get to dictate how I live the rest of my life, do you understand? When this is over? I'm getting my son back." Sabine's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Will this _ever_ be over, Michonne? I don't think you're in a position to make threats to me." She offered a sarcastic smirk. "Is your recluse of a neighbor going to keep my nephew safe?"

"No, _I_ am going to protect my son. I'm not waiting until he's sixteen, or eighteen, or even ten." She shook her head slowly. "Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to do. I'm getting Andre back."

"You can't win this, Michonne. Don't try."

The two sisters stood staring at each other in tense silence, Andre's toys and belongings surrounding them to remind them of just what they were fighting over. Sabine understood, deep down in her marrow, exactly what her problem was. _She_ had raised Andre. _She_ had kept the boy safe, and fed, and growing, all these years. Losing him now, by either Negan's doing or Michonne's, was too much to think about. A great swell of fear that her baby sister would resort to running with Andre resounded through her.

The doorbell rang.

Michonne didn't want to let this go just yet, but then Sasha called from downstairs: "'CHONNE! Uh...you got a visitor!"

Sabine watched her younger sister's face completely change. She frowned. "Who the hell is that?"

Michonne lamented Rick's timing. He was half an hour early.

This was going to be awkward as fuck. She glared at Sabine with defiance. "It's Rick."

* * *

Sabine mutely, suspiciously, followed Michonne down the stairs and into the foyer, where Sasha was standing with the front door open.

Andre had been washing his hands in the hall bathroom, getting ready to eat whatever was smelling so good in the kitchen, feeling uneasy about his mom and aunt fighting upstairs. Now, though, his head popped out from around the door and he peered curiously across the foyer to see what was going on.

There was a man standing in the doorway.

He was leaning slightly to the side, wearing a tie, holding a bouquet of pale, lavender roses.

As soon as Michonne saw Rick, tingles and warmth rushed through her. He looked damned good.

In fact, all three women took a moment to unabashedly appreciated his attractiveness. Though his looks were laden with character shaping melancholy, they were also rugged around the edges. He wasn't Brad Pitt handsome. He was more like Clint Eastwood handsome.

Even Sabine could give him that, getting her first good look at him since Michonne mentioned his arrival over three months ago. Sasha had been staring at him since she opened the door.

His thick, dark curls were combed back, neatly falling just at the top of his shirt collar. His lips were just as pink and inviting as ever, couched in a thin layer of salt-and-pepper fuzz. His eyes looked like ocean waves under the sun. He was staring directly at Michonne.

And she felt that irresistible pull again. She followed it down the last few steps, across the foyer, and to the door where she took Sasha's place. "Hi…you're early." She breathed, her eyes latched onto his, ignoring both her sister and her best friend.

"I know. I saw the surveillance detail outside, so I thought I'd come by a little early. See if you needed anything." His deep voice sounded somewhat bashful, but he smiled and handed her the roses. "These are for you."

She let her eyes slip from his handsome face to get a good look at the beautiful roses. They were gorgeous, pale purple, with a deeper concentration of her favorite color along the edges of the petals. "I love them. Thank you. You really didn't have to."

Rick shifted on his feet and shrugged, that spellbinding gaze of his belying his attempt to be nonchalant about it. "I wanted to. Just to make you smile, after what happened last night."

The gesture was so sweet that Michonne was momentarily speechless. She was learning new things about who Rick was little by little. Unlike with Negan, each revelation was a softer side of the man she'd been living next door to all these months.

"Hey. I'm Andre. Who are you…?" Andre suddenly appeared in the doorway next to Michonne, and the rest of the world came crashing back.

Rick looked down at her son and gave him a smile in greeting, offering his hand. "I'm your mom's neighbor. My name's Rick."

Michonne watched Andre shake Rick's hand firmly. The boy nodded, remembering, assessing the stranger standing on his mother's porch. "Yeah. I remember when you moved in but we never met."

Next, he zeroed in on and frowned at the roses. He was only nine-and-a-half, but he knew what flowers and a tie meant. He continued to interrogate his mom's unexpected guest.

"So...what's up with the flowers? Don't neighbors usually bring you pies or cookies or something?"

Rick turned slightly red, but decided to level with the kid. He scratched his chin and leaned in. "Well, to tell you the truth...I'm tryin' to impress your mom. How am I doin'?" He murmured earnestly, who smirked and glanced up at his mother to see if she was impressed.

Andre could see in his mama's eyes that she liked this man. They'd gone all big and round, like a deer. It was the first time he had ever seen that look on her face. At least, like _that_. There was no mistaking it, however. It made him feel...good...to see her like this. It was a lot better than the way she usually looked when Aunt Sabine was around.

"I think she likes them. You're good."

"Thanks. I was worried she might be a little annoyed with me for showin' up so early." Rick winked at Andre. "Let me know if that changes, okay?"

"Well, you gotta come in off the porch first." Michonne interrupted, smiling appreciatively at how easy going Rick was around Andre in only their first minute of meeting. His presence relaxed her. He looked so good and she was glad to see him. "Come in, okay?"

Rick nodded, already stepping up to her, his scent and presence reaching out to her.

Once he crossed over, Andre backing up to stand next to Sasha, Michonne closed the door and came back down to earth.

Everyone was watching Rick.

"Uh...Rick, this is my sister Sabine and my best friend, Sasha."

Rick nodded to each woman politely in turn, his gaze lingering on Sabine's. They sized each other up. "It's nice to meet you, Sabine. Sasha."

"Nice to meet you too, Rick." Sasha shook his hand, looking caught between utter amusement and graciousness. She didn't know what she wanted first - to watch how he handled Sabine or to watch how he handled Andre. "I've heard so much about you already. "

Michonne elbowed Sasha in the side.

Rick smiled, his eyes drifting (and lingering) on Michonne again.

"That's funny, because I haven't." Sabine interjected causing Rick to turn his attention back toward her as they all stood awkwardly in the foyer, surrounding him.

"Sabine…" Michonne muttered, sighing. _Here we go._

She crossed her arms, watching him with the shrewd eyes. "You _are_ the neighbor that helped Michonne with the intruder last night, right?"

He nodded slowly, not faltering from her domineering tone. "I was there last night." His jaw clenched, but he merely brushed it off with a scratch of his facial hair. "I was lucky to get here in time, that's all."

The older Williamson sister eyed him silent for a beat, then seemed to make up her mind about something. "Thank you, for what you did." She wasn't finished yet, of course. "You'll forgive, me though. It strikes me as a bit odd, you being here in a tie, with flowers, during such a tumultuous time for my sister and my nephew."

"Jesus, Sabine." Michonne huffed, her eyes daring her sister to start another fight in the foyer. "I _asked_ him to come, all right?"

"Am I...interruptin' somethin'?" Rick frowned, his eyes slowly traveling from Michonne's face to Sabine's.

" _No_ , Sabine is just being Sabine." Michonne replied, clutching at her flowers.

"I'm hungry." Andre piped up, his stomach growling for emphasis.

"We've been ready to eat for forty-five minutes, easy." Sasha deadpanned, eyeing Rick expectantly, trying to ascertain how he was going to get himself out of this.

"So can we just _eat_ now? Rick can stay, he has a cool truck and Daryl said he beat the bad guy up." Andre complained, exasperated. It was the obvious thing to do. "Besides, if we stand in around out here all night arguing and being all weird, the food is gonna get cold, Ma."

Michonne laughed at her son's clever, yet innocent pronouncement, but she was torn. She couldn't just send Rick away to wait until Carol and Daryl showed up to pick up Sabine and Andre. Sasha was obviously hell bent on being entertained tonight. Andre was unexpectedly (and suspiciously) gung ho. And Sabine….looked...about ready to put Rick in an interrogation room.

She turned to Rick. She was worried that this was all a bit too much for him. It was starting to feel like a bit much for _her_. It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind.

But Rick seemed...very relaxed. Open. And intensely focused on her. He'd surprised her at every turn so far. Maybe he _could_ handle this.

"Are you hungry?" She asked him, drawn in by his gaze, unable to help herself.

He nodded. They were staring at each other, and all three of their company noticed right away.

"Awesome! You can sit next to me, I wanna ask you some questions." Andre claimed Rick before anyone else could, bewildering his mother and alarming his aunt.

"Good. So let's eat." Sasha clasped her hands together and turned on her heel, trying (and failing) to suppress her extremely intrigued grin. This was going to be amazing.

She led the way into the dining area of the kitchen.

' _Told you...'_ Michonne mouthed to Rick about her son's enthusiasm as they followed Sasha. He merely winked at her, looking pleased and not all that bothered.

Outside, stoic, sweating federal agents mutely set up, tested and installed surveillance equipment under the dim, yellow glow of the street lights.


	9. the sisters williamson, part ii

_Written to the musical score of..._

' _Pizza Guy', Touch Sensitive_

* * *

By late afternoon, Atlanta felt like a toaster oven.

The Shady Shell gas station and auto shop on Peach Tree Road had apparently added a new car wash, and Rick had a mind to use it while he was here. He'd already filled up and gotten himself a two dollar coffee.

He'd been following up on some faint leads, seeing if maybe he could trace the truck he saw to a fresh paint job after it got banged up running Amy Jones off the road. He'd already hit all the high-end places that specialized in bulletproofing and rare designs for shows and prized candy cars, moving on to the little guys next.

It was a slim chance at best - this guy, whoever he was, wasn't dumb enough to leave a trail that easy to find. But given the evidence so far, the cops working this cold case either weren't very smart or looking the other way. Maybe there was a chance he'd gotten cocky at some point. Like with the plates. They were the strongest lead Rick had, but he just had to keep digging until he tripped this guy up on something bigger, more concrete. The waters were too opaque to wade through with any iota of certainty right now. Rick just knew that it smelled like a fuckin' cover up. He would have to be very careful. The worst part was the very strong probability that this was all connected to Rosita and the other girls he either never found or found dead. If he found this guy, maybe he could find out what happened to them. He could feel it.

Now he was parked, listening to Michonne's favorite electronic station, the one she'd tuned his truck radio to as he was driving her home last night. The song playing now was kinda spunky, not as hypnotic and intense as the one from then. But maybe it only felt that way because it was daylight and Michonne wasn't there, filling his truck up with her intoxicating presence.

He was waiting on a delivery. It should be here any minute.

Once he'd parted ways with Shane, at first he'd driven around aimlessly for a bit, trying to keep from drifting into a bog of painful memories. A headache was forming in the center of his skull, throbbing dully as it gathered strength and grew. It just kept thrumming with the same message, over and over on a loop. He'd had a lifelong best friend once. And a wife. And a son. And a career he loved, and a town full of people that counted on him; trusted him. Until that goddamned case.

Over the course of just two short years, Rick's life had fallen apart around that case.

And since he left King County, he'd been silently, gloomily attempting to put the pieces back together again - at least, what was left of them. It hadn't been that long, but it felt like an eternity. Now, suddenly, Amy's case had spun him around and planted his feet on the ground in the direction of his past again, just like that. He hadn't thought he'd have to go back there so soon, if ever. It was a lot to process.

So Rick did what he usually did when he couldn't drink himself into a blank trance - he went to work.

He scanned the lot until finally he spotted a by-now-familiar sporty Ford Fusion zipping into the spot next to him. The driver, a scrawny, sarcastic Korean kid named Glenn, hopped out and wiped his damp brow under his Little Tonino's Pizza ball cap.

Rick nodded to him in greeting as Glenn waved and bent down to retrieve a bright red case carrying a large pepperoni pizza.

A few moments later, Glenn had climbed into the passenger seat of Rick's truck and dumped the pizza carrier in the back seat. "That'll be seventeen-fifty, plus tip." He said, leaning back in the seat, looking like he'd just pulled an all-nighter. Rick knew that was probably the case. In addition to selling weed and running semi-dangerous errands for him, Glenn was in night school. He hated to run the kid ragged, but he always made it worth his while. Speaking of which: "This better be good, Rick. Peach Tree is waaay the hell past my delivery zone."

"How's five thousand sound?" Rick reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a wad of cash, folded over and secured in a sturdy rubber band chokehold. He dumped the money onto Glenn's lap. The baby-faced pizza boy jerked up into a straight sitting position again as he caught the ball of money clumsily. "There'll be five more, when you bring me somethin' I can use."

Glenn licked the tip of his thumb and lowered his head, letting the crisp green bills fly across his fingers as he gave it a quick count in his lap, out of sight of any prying eyes roaming around. "Okay, you got my attention. So what's up? Why'd you call me all the way out here? And what the hell is this music…?"

Rick didn't speak for a moment. Instead he turned the music down, starting the engine and steering his truck into the lane to wait for a turn in the car wash.

The pepperoni and cheese in his back seat began to overpower what little was left of Michonne's scent as he punched his credit card into the kiosk near the driver's side window and purchased a wash. Glenn tucked the wad of cash into his back jeans pocket and waited while Rick eased the Bronco under the spray. The water shot out from the hoses and jettison sprinklers around them, cascading down over the windows, down the body, and over the big black tires of the truck. Then came the soap and rotating foam buffers, giving them some semblance of privacy as they conducted their business.

Rick put the truck in park and sat back, turning the music down low so they could talk properly.

"I'm gonna need you to go under again." He sighed, scratching his chin, knowing the kid would pretend not to like the idea much. But he also knew that Glenn was clever, resourceful, charming in a geeky, smartass sort of way - but above all, he was discreet and he could take care of himself. That made him a damn good spy. No one paid much attention to the pizza guy. Folks would be surprised how freely even the hardest criminals spoke when they were high, fed and entertained. "Just for a bit, nothin' too dangerous. You go in, you get out quick. Think you can handle that?"

Glenn puffed out his cheeks. He exhaled hard and adjusted his cap above his boyish face and fine, jet black hair. "Fuck. You know, if you weren't paying my tuition? I'd delete your number."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You in or not?"

"You _know_ I'm in, dumbass. What do you need me to find out?"

Ignoring Glenn's preferred term of endearment, Rick explained Amy's case, laying out his suspicions that this was no run of the mill trafficking job. They needed to get creative with their sources, and dig a little deeper than usual.

"You know this city inside out." Rick drawled, showing Glenn Amy's picture. "Now, this might require you to go a little higher than the middle men you're usually talkin' to," he admitted, watching Glenn process his marching orders. "But I know if anyone can read between the lines without anybody knowin' the wiser, it's you Glenn. I'm too close to this thing, the ring leaders'll sniff me out if I go in too soon. Not to mention the Atlanta P.D. That's why I need you."

The young night school student stared at Amy's picture with grim thoughtfulness as the car wash went to work on Rick's Bronco, a tornado of hot, soapy water engulfing it.

The shadows of the pale blue water and white, foamy soap danced across the windows as Glenn finally nodded, handing the picture back. "I think I know where I can start." He sighed again, looking Rick in the eyes. "But are you sure you wanna go that deep? What you're talking about...it sounds like some Illuminati, Red Dragon, Hannibal Lecter-type shit, you know what I'm saying?"

Rick hesitated, but finally answered. "That's exactly what I'm thinkin', too." He gestured to nothing as the wash cycle began the rinse and dry stages. "You know anyone who can help me get closer to anythin' like that?"

Glenn thought for a second. "Well, if she'd been sent through the usual rings, I'd have heard about it by now. She looks like what they call 'prime meat'." He made a disgusted face at the term, feeling sick to his stomach over some of the things he'd heard since he'd started working for Rick. But they were also exactly _why_ he started working for Rick. The money was good, but he also liked helping people. Rick was a gloomy, grumpy asshole sometimes, but he was a good guy. Glenn continued: "A hot ticket item, in other words. Too visible to keep on your hands for long."

Rick understood. "That helps us narrow it down, then."

"Look, there's some guys I could get to. I sell weed to a few low-level errand boys that work for them. But they're fucking _notorious_ in the underworld, Rick. If they catch me, I'm dead, and even _then_ \- ?"

Rick raised his eyebrows as Glenn paused, eyeing him seriously to stress the importance of his next point.

"There's no guarantee they'll be of any help. They aren't the kinda guys who can be bribed...or easily intimidated."

Rick nodded that he got the gist. The truck was almost dry. "Just be careful. See what you can see. Then get out. I'll take care of the rest if you find anythin'."

"Suit yourself. You're the cop." Rick frowned at him gloomily and Glenn smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Whatever. Ex cop. Same difference."

As Rick got the squeaky-clean truck started again and rolled out of the wash port, he sighed hard and decided to ask another, possibly dangerous favor. "I need you to look into somethin' else for me while you're at it."

It was Glenn's turn to roll his eyes as Rick got them parked next to his car again. "Oh _sure_. Why not? I'm only risking my life for a measly ten thousand bucks."

"I'll throw in an extra five if you just shut up for minute." Rick growled good-naturedly, knowing that Glenn loved this spy shit. He was a scrappy, good-hearted kid. But he was tough. He could handle it.

"I'm listening…" Glenn folded his arms and leaned back, his eyes shadowed by his cap.

"You've heard of Negan Wolfe, I'm guessin'." Rick braced himself for the bitch fit he knew was coming.

Glenn's eyes bugged out of their sockets and he jerked forward again. His jaw dropped. " _Negan Wol_ \- !? Are you fucking with me? He's not back, is he? If he's involved in this, _no way_ , man. No way."

"No, this is different. Come on, quit your whinin'. You haven't even heard me out yet." Rick turned on the charm, offering Glenn a grin and a challenge with his eyes.

Glen huffed, but he couldn't resist a challenge. "God, I choose shitty friends. _What_ , Rick?"

"Look, all I need is for you to find out if anyone's bringin' him up again lately, all right? Or...if you find his name repeatedly being associated with a woman fitting a certain description. That's not too bad."

"What for?" Glenn pressed, still not totally convinced.

Rick reluctantly went into the story, choosing his details carefully. "She's a friend of mine who used to know him. He's in prison, but he's after her somehow. I just need to know if there's any more hired help out there. If possible, what they're plannin'." When Glenn clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the dashboard, thinking, Rick added: "But I'll settle for leads. I can take care of the rest myself."

After a moment in which Glenn sat seriously contemplating Rick's request, his cell phone went off. He pulled it out of his other pocket and saw that he had a delivery to make.

"Okay. I'll do it." He said as he replaced his phone. "But you owe me big time, man. And I'm not talkin' about money. Negan Wolfe is really, _really_ bad news. Only idiots get caught snooping around his business."

"I'm lucky you're not an idiot, then."

Glenn frowned, ignoring Rick's dry ass humor. "I thought that guy was done for. If he's locked up for life, what's he want with her? What did this friend of yours do to him to piss him off that bad?"

Rick hesitated as Glenn reached back to dislodge the still-hot pizza from his carrying case.

"She's the reason he ended up behind bars." He finally admitted.

Glenn gaped at him. "Holy shit." He frowned. "Of course you're sticking your neck out for a snitch. She must be some friend. How come you never mentioned her before?"

Rick took too long to figure out how to answer that, giving Glenn time to notice something. Rick seemed...really easy-going, compared to his usual doom and gloom act. He was smiling and taking Glenn's sarcasm in stride, even jabbing back a little. His usual depression-laden demeanor had changed all of a sudden.

"Who _is_ this mysterious lady?"

Rick hated how everyone he talked to today seemed to notice a change in him, but he couldn't resent the cause of the tectonic shift. He could not wait to see Michonne again. And he could not wait to be one hundred percent certain that she was safe from Negan Wolfe. She was a bright, beautiful light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He could feel it. Everything about her drew him in. He had to see this done. For her.

"She's...more than just a friend, all right? Are you gonna help me out?"

"You know, you could just bring her some flowers and call it a day." Glenn offered, opening the door and sticking a leg out. The glaring late afternoon sun peered in over his shoulder as he regarded his closed-off friend with the dark, secret past. "You don't have to go poking a giant fuckin' Wolfe to impress a dame, man."

"A, that's not what I'm doin'. And B, what the hell would you know about impressing women?" Rick chuckled, letting some of his hardness soften and enjoying the kid's company.

"Oh please, old timer, I know _plenty_. I may be just a pizza boy, but I get around, all right?" He squinted at Rick, now leaning against the side of the truck, his bright red carrier slung over his shoulder. His cap made him look like a little leaguer. "When's the last time you got laid, in the nineties?"

Rick was seized by a brief, but sharp memory of Lori, the night before the fight that kept them from speaking for a week. The week of her death. He swallowed thickly, losing his smile. "What's your point?"

Glenn shrugged. "You're maybe a bit rusty, dude. And totally sprung. Going after Negan Wolfe's old laundry for this chick? You got it bad, 'I'm guessin''." He made air quotes around Rick's previous turn of phrase.

"Don't you have a delivery to make or somethin'?" He eyed the quippy little bastard with annoyance as he backed up and closed the door, still sticking his neck through the window. To emphasize his impatience, Rick shifted into drive and put his foot on the break.

"Okay, I'll give you some advice, since you clearly need it. Get her flowers that are her favorite color. My dad taught me that one. Boom. She'll cream."

"Jesus." Rick was on the point of driving off, maybe he could get Glenn's foot on the way out. "I don't know her favorite color. This thing is kinda...new. Asshole."

"So just send her a cryptic text, dumbass." Glenn retorted, finally backing up to his own car. "You should be good at cryptic."

"Call me when you've got somethin'." Rick ended their banter and eased out of the gas station parking lot.

Through his rearview mirror, he saw the kid slide back into his own car and zip off in the other direction.

* * *

After giving the untouched piazza away to a homeless guy hanging out on the side of the road, Rick drove for a short while, contemplating Glenn's (annoying, but admittedly accurate) advice. Shane had been on the same page. Maybe they were both right. It had been a while for him. He hadn't had the urge to try to be normal or court a woman in a long time. He had struck out so many times with Lori while they were married, trying to make one thing or another up to her over the years. He had no idea what the right move was anymore.

He decided to take their advice. He wanted to see Michonne again, and he wanted to make her smile.

He felt his desire for her humming inside him, as it had been doing all day. Acting on it felt like the easiest thing in the world. It felt fast and dangerous, but it felt right. And he couldn't wait to.

Rick guided his truck toward a nearby flower emporium and community garden. He found a parking space and turned off his engine, then pulled out his cell phone as the sun began its slow, brilliant descent.

Rick found Michonne's number and started a text.

His heart going to work on him, distracting him, he punched in a short message.

' _What's your favorite color?'_

Then he waited.

After a few seconds, she answered. His heart skipped a beat.

' _Interesting Q for a first text. It's purple.'_

Rick smiled down at his phone's screen. Purple. He liked that about her instantly. It wasn't what he expected for some reason. But then again, even though he'd watched her pretty much since the day he moved in next door, nothing about her was. He liked that, too.

The way she decorated used color sparingly, as an accent here and there. He didn't remember seeing much purple. But it meant something to her, so he was going to bring her purple flowers.

' _Suits you. See you at 8.'_

Now he just needed to actually find some purple flowers. As Rick climbed out of his Bronco and locked her up behind him, he found another memory assaulting him unexpectedly.

Things like flowers always meant something to Lori, too. Way back when he had a wife to please. Rick walked across the lot and into the large, open garden space full of foliage and flowers of all makes, colors and sizes. He thought of how Lori knew what a bunch of different types of flowers meant; what they were for. Funerals, baby showers, anniversaries, engagements. She was an excellent homemaker, friend, and community leader. Everyone loved her - she was a problem solver and a bit of a peacekeeper herself while her husband was out busting criminals. There was a time in Rick's life when all he ever wanted was to please his wife, make her happy, take away some of the stress she carried being there for everyone all the time.

He had his responsibilities, but she had hers too. It wasn't easy holding down the fort while he was out doing what he'd been raised to dedicate his life to doing. He could never deny her that.

He paused long enough to breathe and count to ten, shaking off the memory, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He had too many thoughts roaming around in his head. Right now, he just wanted to focus on Michonne.

Rick meandered through the huge garden, browsing the robust array of flowers and plants draped, tucked and blooming all over the place. He entered the shop at the back, relieved by the air conditioning, running a hand through his damp curls as his eyes roamed.

A young shopkeeper spotted him and made her way over, smiling politely. "Hey there. Looking for anything in particular?"

He gave her a cordial nod and scratched his chin. "Yeah, actually. Got anythin' purple?"

The pretty young lady smiled, her butterscotch cheeks blushing slightly at his accent. "Purple? Wow. That's not a request we usually get from walk-ins. You know, purple flowers are a symbol for a budding romance." She grinned at him. "Is this for someone special?"

He found himself shifting on his feet, and he cleared his throat. "You could say that. It's for dinner, tonight. Didn't wanna show up empty handed."

The girl blushed harder and tucked her hands into her tight jeans. "Well, aren't you sweet? It just so happens, you have perfect timing. We have some surplus from this big shipment of beautiful lavender roses we ordered for this wedding. Come on, I'll show you." She turned to lead him to the back of the shop, where there was a refrigerated storeroom. "I'll give you a bundle. We ordered hundreds and they didn't need them all. She'll love them!"

Feeling like luck was on his side, Rick quickened his step as he followed her. "Thank you. I really appreciate the help."

"No problem. Whoever she is...she's a lucky woman."

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

' _Kids Two', Kyle Dixon_

* * *

When he got home, there was an unfamiliar truck parked in Michonne's driveway. He resisted the urge to eschew protocol yet again and go next door to investigate. But he had a hunch that might be pushing too hard. He had always been the over-protective type. He'd gotten into plenty of fights in high school over Lori, and some before Carl was born, too. Once upon a time, Shane Walsh hadn't been the only hothead in King County.

He did, however, head immediately upstairs with Michonne's roses and stand at his favorite window.

He set the flowers carefully on his table and peered through the blinds.

He saw Michonne in her kitchen, sipping from a glass of wine, laughing. The fridge was open, and when it closed again, a woman Rick had seen stopping by a few times before appeared from behind it. She was laughing, too. There were pots and pans full of food all over the stove and covering some of the counter space of the kitchen island.

He turned away, not wishing to intrude on them any longer since Michonne seemed safe and in good hands.

And she looked _amazing_. The romper she was wearing hugged her body in every place he couldn't resist. The color of it made her skin look like silk, even from all the way over here.

Feeling the urge for eight o'clock to get here quickly, Rick got dressed.

He put on a tie. He wasn't sure if it was the right move, but no move he'd made in the last twenty-four hours had been one he thought he'd be making. He decided to just go with the flow, and see where it landed him.

Then he paced around his dark house, waiting. At around seven twenty-eight, he couldn't resist peering out to see what Michonne was doing. He noticed a black SUV now parked in the driveway next door. His eyes zipped down the street, and he could make out a black van parked just out of sight in the driveway of an empty house that was for sale.

His eyes returned to Michonne's house, and he scanned the perimeter until he found a tall agent walking around to the back yard, carrying a spool of wire.

He scanned the back yard now, and they were back there, setting up cameras. Traipsing around the foliage, carefully placing silent alarms, boxing her in.

Rick could no longer resist his urge to investigate. Or see Michonne.

He grabbed her roses and stalked down his stairs, collecting his keys and phone on the way out of the house.

* * *

Twilight was fading into proper nightfall over the quiet suburban neighborhood as Rick made his way across his lawn, crossing into Michonne's.

The same tall agent Rick had seen earlier spotted him and moved to cut him off. "Hey. Can I help you?"

Rick stopped, patiently watching the older man walk toward him authoritatively. "No, I'm doin' just fine, thanks." He answered, gesturing to his house. "I live next door. I met Agent Peletier last night."

Tobin eyed Rick intently for a beat, then nodded tersely, relaxing a little. "Rick Grimes? Agent Tobin Rhodes. Agent Peletier told us to expect you. You've got clearance."

"Good to know." The ex sheriff shook hands with the guy, still not liking being on the F.B.I.'s radar any more than the Atlanta P.D.'s. He gestured now to the tiny black dot of a camera he could see posted just under the edge of the roof, tucked above Andre's upstairs bedroom window. "Those night vision?"

Tobin looked up over his shoulder, and then back down to Rick, who he could clearly see was no dummy and very observant. "Correct. We've got the place fenced in, no one comes in or out without us knowing it." He raised an eyebrow as Rick nodded with satisfaction, now gesturing to the pretty purple roses in his hand. "Those for Miss Williamson?"

Rick turned back, eyeing Tobin with a steely, blank expression. He didn't answer.

Tobin scoffed and gave him a knowing smirk, backing up to go finish setting up with his team. "Sorry. It's a good move, that's all. That is one house full of...strong personalities. Good luck."

With that, he walked off, leaving Rick in the middle of the yard.

Taking a deep breath, suddenly feeling a little nervous, Rick adjusted his tie around his neck and finished the journey to Michonne's front porch.

He took the four concrete steps two at a time with his long legs and glided toward her large oak door in one stride. He hesitated, watching the shadows move in the small, curtained windows on either side. Okay. There was no knowing what to expect when he saw her, or what he'd be walking into. He just hoped he could achieve his goal of making her smile, and that he could stay a little while and spend some time with her.

He realized he didn't really care who else was around. If they were part of Michonne's life, he found he wanted to know them, too. It had been a long time since he'd done anything this domestic, but Michonne was worth it. So he would try.

Rick reached up and rang the doorbell, settling down on the porch in his boots under the glow of her light, waiting.

Finally the door opened. Instead of Michonne, he was greeted by the shorter, petite woman he'd seen earlier. By the knowing smile that unfolded on her pretty face, he could tell that she instantly realized who he was. She stared for a moment before her impressed smile evolved to that of unmistakable excitement.

Rick shifted on his feet, cocking his head and offering her a skeptical grin. "Evenin'. I'm Rick. I was...lookin' for Michonne."

Instead of responding to him, the young woman yelled to the house at large: "'CHONNE! Uh...you got a visitor!" Then she turned back to Rick. "She'll be right down."

* * *

Now, Rick sat at Michonne's dining table, watching her pour him a glass of water as he opened a cloth napkin to fold over his lap.

Soft music played in the background. The table was set. Michonne had put the roses in water and set them in the center of the table in a chic, tube of a vase. They accented the pristine, modern kitchen perfectly. It was exactly what Rick was going for. Michonne was a person with a lot of carefully assembled layers, but he knew at the center of them all, there was a gorgeous bloom waiting to be discovered by the right person.

He found himself hoping, as he sat among her friend and family, that he could somehow find his way to being that person for her. Tonight was maybe the start of that. If he could survive it.

He couldn't keep his eyes, or the rest of his senses, off of her.

Michonne smelled just as amazing as she looked. Her spicy-sweet scent mingled pleasantly with the aroma of the delicious-looking food laid out before them on the dining table. He kept his hands firmly on the table however, because he wanted to touch her smooth, inviting skin without restraint.

She was avoiding his gaze, but he could tell she was aware of his eyes on her. There was a deep berry flush set firmly in her glowing cheeks. He couldn't help it. She was beautiful.

"Thank you..." he uttered in a low, polite drawl, his gaze following her as she set his glass down in front of him and shyly moved on to Sasha.

Sabine, Sasha and Andre had all been openly observing the way the man from next door gazed at Michonne while she stood over him. And the way she'd been smiling softly to herself that whole time. She was different around him, there was no doubt about that. There was a relaxed, yet quietly intense energy wafting off of him that peaked the curiosity of his fellow dinner guests with each passing second. His fixation on Michonne alarmed Sabine and aroused her suspicions, while it gave both Sasha and Andre something like hope. Though his affect was polarizing, there was no mistaking that he had one on Michonne.

Rick stood up and pulled Michonne's chair out for her when she was done pouring drinks, causing Sasha and Andre to exchange amused looks across the table.

They served each other food from the dishes situated around the table. Everything looked and smelled delicious. It was a creative, colorful feast that Michonne and Sasha admitted to getting a bit carried away preparing. "But it's soooo good, Ma." Andre praised around a mouthful of shrimp and roasted red pepper.

"Thanks, peanut." Michonne smiled lovingly at her son's gigantic appetite, watching him lick his lips of shrimp juice and dig in for more.

"Yes, well," Sabine took a sip of her wine and another bite of steak. "Michonne's cooking has always been a bit...imaginative, to put it positively."

Michonne rolled her eyes at her sister, who sat at the other end of the table facing her. Sabine shrugged innocently and chewed her steak.

"What? You kept picking up all this weird stuff from whatever exotic place Dad was shipped off to." She swallowed her food and sipped more wine. "You haven't changed."

"Neither have you, Big Sis." Michonne gestured in the affirmative to her older sister with her wine glass before taking a sip herself.

Rick was watching Michonne again, Sasha noticed.

He could tell that there was a lot more unsaid between the two sisters. This was another side to Michonne that he hadn't seen before. He didn't like how tense she looked when she and Sabine were engaging, but he didn't think it was his place to intrude directly. So he tried something else. He took a bite of steak, and then some mashed sweet potatoes (something he'd never had in his life before tonight). He chewed for a moment, and then nodded in agreement with Andre.

"You're right," he said to the kid sitting next to him, who had also become distracted by the tension between his mother and aunt. "This _is_ really good."

"Right?" Andre immediately perked up, turning his attention back to his dinner partner. "Ma makes stuff like this when I spend the weekend. Try the shrimp! What kinda sauce did you put on those, Mama?"

Michonne's expression changed and she was smiling again, feeling grateful to Rick for changing the subject. "Trade secret, buddy. But I'm glad you like it."

"I'll bet I can get it out of her." Rick offered conspiratorially. Andre laughed, biting into yet another jumbo shrimp, ignoring his salad. "I used to be a cop. Sniffin' out secrets was one of my specialties…"

He couldn't help his gaze lingering on Michonne's, but their silent focus on each other was immediately interrupted by Andre's enthusiastic proclamation: "YOU USED TO BE A COP!? FOR REAL?"

Rick chuckled and nodded. "Yeah. A sheriff's deputy in fact. Feels like a long time ago now."

"Wooow…" Andre mumbled in awe, looking at Rick in a new light.

Sasha rolled her eyes at Andre for yelling. "Andre, you met like six F.B.I. agents today. Why are you yelling at the dinner table?"

Andre shrugged, looking contritely at his Aunt Sabine for a moment to make sure she wasn't annoyed. "I dunno - I just think cops are cooler. F.B.I. agents get to use a lot of gadgets and stuff, and spy on people, that's true." The adults watched him reasoning with himself with soft-hearted fascination. "But cops get to do all the dirty work. Right, Rick? Like, gritty detective work and stuff. Like kidnappings and gangs and dirty politicians, like on _Law and Order!_ That's one of Aunt Sabine's favorite shows. She likes that guy - what's his name, Auntie? The one with the tiny head and the raspy voice?"

"Okay, no more talking out of you until you eat some of that salad, little boy." Sabine warned, embarrassed. Michonne and Sasha tried and failed to suppress laughter at her expense. She glowered at them and chomped down harshly on a crisp radish slice.

"Your Auntie's right. Let Rick eat, peanut." Michonne said when she was done laughing at her sister.

Andre moaned under his breath, but went quiet.

In the resulting interlude, Michonne offered Rick an apologetic smile. He returned the smile, shaking his head that it was fine. He hadn't realized how much he would enjoy being around kids again. It had been extremely difficult for him, ever since his only child perished. For the last year he had simply avoided any interaction with them. But this was Michonne's son, and he was...something. Rick found himself thinking that Andre reminded him of the way _his_ son had been when he was Andre's age. Curious and bold and good to his core.

Sasha watched the pleasant expression darken on Rick's face and decided to get the conversation going again. "So how come you're not a cop anymore, Rick?"

"Sasha…" Michonne murmured, now feeling the embarrassment.

"What?" Sasha asked innocently.

"I'm curious about that, myself." Sabine defended Michonne's best friend, folding her hands over her plate, her elbows propped up on the table. She looked like a shark sniffing out blood. "Michonne mentioned you showed up, out of the blue, what, three and a half months ago?" She shrugged slowly, trying to sound merely curious and not openly hostile. She wasn't doing a very good job of it, however. "Any family to speak of? And what exactly is it that you do now, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Sabine, this is my _dinner table_ , not a holding cell." Michonne snapped.

"You'll forgive my sister, Mr. Grimes." Sabine carried on, ignoring Michonne's razor sharp glare across the table, keeping her focus on the intense man sitting next to her nephew. "She might be feeling nonchalant about the danger she's in, but I am not. It's just a few questions, you understand, right?"

"Did Rick do something wrong?" Andre frowned, confused.

"No he didn't. Your Aunt is apparently working for the F.B.I. now." His mother answered.

Sasha seemed to agree with her, but she was still pretty curious. Even Andre had paused picking at his salad to watch Rick for his reaction. Usually, when his mama and aunt were arguing, it got kind of depressing. But with Rick around, things had gotten a whole lot more interesting.

"No, it's alright." Rick inclined his head, knowing that this part had been coming since he walked through the door and met Michonne's sister. He sipped his water and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Then he met Sabine's gaze as he spoke: "I stopped bein' a cop because of a case. It was...tough. Drove me off the force."

Michonne watched the pain flit across Rick's eyes, hardening his jaw. She felt bad for him, and she was monstrously annoyed with Sasha for sicking Sabine on him again. Sometimes, when the three of them were together, Sasha unwittingly stirred the pot, and not in Michonne's favor. Or, apparently tonight, Rick's.

' _Whose side are you on?'_ she mouthed angrily at Sasha as Rick and Sabine stared each other down.

' _Sorry!'_ she mouthed back.

Andre watched Rick, fascinated.

"Yeah, I did have a family. But they were killed one day, while I was workin' that case." Rick said honestly, one hand resting on the table, the other in his lap. He figured the best way to soothe Sabine's hawkish attitude was to lower his guard. At least, just enough to satisfy her for now. "A wife and a son." He smiled down at Andre. "Carl. He was a little older than you, but he thought bein' a sheriff's deputy was pretty cool, too. He wanted to be one like his old man. I had this old hat...he used to wear it all the time."

Rick stopped talking for a moment as fond memories of his son passed through him like a visit from a spirit. He let his eyes rise from Andre to Sabine again.

"I came to Atlanta to start over, clear my head. And you're right…" he gestured to nothing, nodding openly. Sabine blinked at him, feeling torn and a little guilty for her behavior. "I _did_ keep to myself when I first got here. My job doesn't really let me make acquaintances like I used to. Truth is, I've been meanin' to introduce myself, get to know Michonne and Andre for a while, now."

Michonne was taken aback, listening to Rick speak more words than he had since she met him. He was really stepping out of his comfort zone for her. For the second time that night, she was speechless. He turned his prismatic blue eyes on hers now. She felt that spark of attraction ignite in her stomach, tighten her nipples, and spread down between her legs.

"I wish I had sooner. I was lucky to get here in time last night. I don't want anythin' to happen to her any more than you do." They gazed at each other intensely for a beat, and finally he turned back to finish with Sabine. "I know you're worried about her safety, and that's why you're...bein' thorough. She's your sister. Andre's your nephew. You can't trust just anyone. I get it. And I agree with you."

Sabine regarded him silently still, processing his cool, collected way with words. His apparent willingness to side with her, at least in appreciating the grave danger that lurked around every corner. But at the same time, she knew he was drawing a line in the sand, so to speak. It was as bold and confident a move as she herself had made in declaring him a Prime Suspect.

Their audience was slowly coming to the conclusion that she had possibly met her match.

"I'm retired from the force, but I've been a private investigator for over a year now. I know how to find people that don't want to be found." Sabine let this new information sink in. "I plan on bein' thorough, myself. One way or the other, I'm gonna find out who's targeting your sister. And I'm gonna stop 'em." His eyes glinted under the dimmed lights, his plush, pink lips pursed in a hard line. He was telling the truth. She could see that quite plainly. "You have my word on that."

"Badass…" Andre whispered reverently as Sabine and Rick came to a silent agreement across the table.

"Andre Anthony!" Sasha hissed, throwing her napkin at him, breaking the spell.

But Rick's point had been felt.

"What?" Andre tossed the napkin back. "It _is!_ " He and Sasha made petulant faces at each other across the table. "Besides, Mama says cursing is fine if it's the truth."

"Of course she does." Sabine rolled her eyes, backing down.

Michonne almost let out an audible sigh of relief, happy to go back to sparring with Sabine about the regular stuff, like what a terrible mother she was. The elder Williamson's rigid demeanor relaxed and she blinked at Rick somewhat empathetically.

"'Investigator Grimes', huh? Okay, then. Thank you for your help. And...I am sorry to hear about your family. No one deserves that kind of tragedy."

Sasha wheeled toward Sabine in mute shock that she was surrendering so easily, but Rick merely nodded his acceptance. "Thank you."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about your family too, Rick." Andre offered. "Do you miss Carl?"

"I do. Every day. But it's okay." The hardened ex cop took a deep breath. "I had fourteen good years with him. He was a good kid, like you. I'm proud I got to be his dad."

Under the table, Michonne reached out to grasp Rick's strong fingers with hers in his lap. She squeezed. He squeezed back. Everyone kept eating, letting the pleasant sounds of the music playing in the living room be a substitute for conversation for a little while.

* * *

A short while later, everyone was full and Carol still hadn't shown up yet. The agents setting up all the security outside came by to announce that they were done and stepped out again.

Now Sabine and Michonne were watching Andre talk Rick's ear off while they cleaned the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher. Sasha was off in the living room talking on the phone with her boyfriend Abraham.

"So is that how your hand got hurt? Did you _punch_ him?"

"A few times, yeah."

"How many bad guys have you ever punched? Can you _show_ me?"

The Williamson sisters could only stand back together and marvel at how good Rick was with Michonne's son. He was keeping up with the kid's insatiable curiosity with ease, and Andre was even making him laugh.

In Sabine's eyes, he seemed a lot less dark and dangerous when he was engaged with her nephew, but she still planned to stay vigilant where he was concerned. Because judging by the stars dancing around in her baby sister's eyes, Michonne had made up her mind about the mysterious Inspector Grimes a long time ago.

She lowered her gaze to her hands as she dried them on a kitchen towel. "I'm not going to say I was wrong."

"Of course you aren't." Michonne replied quietly, pretending to concentrate on putting the wine glasses on the top row of the dishwasher.

"I was _going_ to say that he isn't bad, your neighbor, if you would just stop fighting with me for two seconds put together!" Sabine sighed, exasperated. "Michonne, how long are you going to punish me for having your best interest at heart?"

"As long as _you_ keep punishing _me_ for falling in love with the wrong man when I was just a kid." Michonne stood up straight and faced her sister. Years of regrets, resentments and sadnesses passed between their expressions just then as Andre's enthused voice carried on in the background. "I'm a grown woman now. I made mistakes, Sabine, and I've paid for them. Andre is _my_ son."

By this time, Sasha had finished her call and was leaning against the door frame, watching Rick and the kid while being cognisant of the standoff going down by the dishwasher. Sabine stood rigidly, letting her hands holding the towel drop to her waist. "I am aware of that, Little Sis."

"What if punching them doesn't work?" Andre was asking Rick. He looked a little sad and resentful for a moment. "I don't exactly have a lot of muscles. I'm smaller than most of the other kids in my school."

"Punchin' isn't all you can do. But it's somewhere to start." Rick answered him confidently. "If you can hit good enough to distract 'em, that's when you got 'em. The trick is to use your strengths."

All three women were now intently watching the two fast friends, listening to Rick coaching the young, eager kid. The sight of them gave Michonne such a feeling of calm and hopefulness that it was bewildering.

Andre was standing in front of Rick, his arms up, fists balled, mimicking a boxer's pose. Rick was still in his seat behind him, showing him how to hold his hands and drive a blow all the way through to completion.

"I don't think I have that many strengths, either. I mean, I'm good at video games and math, I guess. I play soccer and basketball, but...that's about it. " Andre confessed glumly, letting his fists fall a little with rare insecurity.

Rick patiently lifted his fasts with his own much bigger hands, then showed him again. "Now show me how you punch." This time Andre turned around to face his next door neighbor again and gave him a firm punch in the palm of his hand. "There. You got it. That was pretty good."

Rick couldn't help feeling drawn to the kid's honesty, and his obvious need to protect his mother. He smiled reassuringly, thinking of a talk he'd had with Carl once upon a time. His own son had come home crying because of bullies more than once, and Rick had passed down the same advice to Carl that his father had given to him. Advice he was about to give Michonne's son now.

"It's not about bein' bigger, or stronger, Andre. It's about bein' _smarter_." He pointed to his temple, nodding at Andre firmly. "Most people will underestimate you because they think you're too small to bother defending themselves against. But they'd be wrong." He winked and Andre grinned, hanging on his every word. "Small means _fast_. It means slippery. You've got the element of surprise on your side. Use your brain, figure out a plan of action, and take it when they least expect it. Then it doesn't matter how big your opponent is."

"Okay. I will. Thanks!"

The doorbell rang.

Sabine shook herself out of her riveted interest in the handsome man giving sage advice to her nephew and headed for the door first.

Rick stood up as Andre bolted straight for his mother. Sasha sighed, turning to go and fetch the boy's things.

"I don't wanna go, Ma…" Rick watched Andre murmur into his mother's stomach, hugging her tight. Michonne fought off tears, returning her child's embrace, unsure how to comfort or reassure him just yet. She didn't want him to go, either. She had half a mind - more than half - to demand that he stay and for Carol to just fucking figure it out.

But, as the agent in question stepped into the house, followed by her slick-haired partner, Michonne knew it was too late for that. And still too dangerous.

Carol said hello to everyone, and Daryl offered Rick a silent nod of acknowledgement.

"You're late." Sabine glowered, smoothing the front of her dress as she closed the door behind them.

"Apologies…" Carol gave Sabine a patient, fake smile. "Couldn't be helped. But the plane is waiting for us and ready to go. We can take off as soon as you set foot on the tarmac."

"Good. You can get his things, Sasha has them." Sabine raised her chin expectantly at Daryl. He stared blankly at her for a beat, until Carol turned to look up at him too, her eyes dancing with amusement. His broad shoulders slumped, but he went to do as she demanded, taking hold of Andre's bags from Sasha's waiting arms. Everyone except Sabine noticed that he didn't appreciate being ordered around like a bellhop, but of course no one was going to step in to spare him.

"Rick Grimes." Carol greeted Rick, who was standing in the kitchen, silently observing things in exactly the same way he had been last night. Only this time he was cleaned up, bandaged, and wearing a tie. She wasn't at all surprised. "Good to see you again. I told my team to let you come and go as you please, as long as Michonne's okay with it."

"Rhodes gave me the news. Appreciate it." Something told him there would be a price for that later. Carol didn't look like the type who pulled strings on a whim, or just to be considerate.

Carol nodded and turned to Michonne, who was handing Andre his burner phone, giving him another tight hug. Her old friend looked nice. Very nice. Something told _Carol_ Michonne _was_ okay with it. And she would have something to ask of Mr. Grimes soon enough. She could tell, when it came to Michonne, he'd be willing to help.

She watched the mother and child sadly for a moment, hating to see them separated yet again. But when it came to Negan Wolfe, they couldn't be too cautious. Finally, once they'd finished embracing, she stepped up to them. "Andre, why don't you say goodnight to Sasha and Rick and help Daryl load up?"

Andre hesitated, looking up at his mother. Michonne grasped him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. "You keep that phone by your side, okay, baby? Call me as soon as you land. _And listen to your Auntie_ , Andre Anthony. I love you. Go on."

"I love you, too, Mama." The boy backed away, pausing when he saw Rick still standing by the table. He walked up to the man and gave him a fist bump. It was normally his thing with Sasha's boyfriend Abraham, but he liked Rick enough to let him into the fold. He could tell how much his mom liked the man too, and he hoped that he would come back to visit her more often. He felt like she was safer with Rick around. "See you later, Rick. Thanks for the advice. And...keep an eye on Mama for me?"

"Any time. And I will." Rick promised, returning Andre's firm bump. Then his eyes rose to land on Michonne. He would keep them on her as much as he could from now on, there was no turning back.

"Negan has been at the ADX Supermax in Florence for three years. In solitary confinement for the last ten months." Carol informed Michonne, her pale blue eyes serious and urgent. Michonne's lips parted but she didn't know what to say as she processed the new information. "They never told me it went through, I'm sorry. The problem is, in their eyes, that gives him a concrete alibi - on the surface. But I convinced my boss to let me follow through with discovery, for now." She bit her lip, and her friend could tell she was working some of this out as she stood there. "That'll buy us more time until I can find something that'll get me a warrant."

Michonne swallowed hard. "What does all this _mean_ , Carol?" She pressed, folding her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling a chill.

"We got a lead. It's small, but it's worth checking out. The guy who attacked you has a brother, someone who was at Riker's with Negan while he was waiting out his appeals."

Rick stood aside, watching Sasha get Andre situated before saying their temporary goodbyes, but he was listening.

"His life was threatened. The guy believed his brother would be killed if he didn't come after you. At least, that's what we pieced together. Fucker was a steel trap." Carol rolled her eyes but carried on. "They think that's case closed, but I did some tap dancing, and we're headed to Riker's to shake the brother first thing."

"Okay. What'll that tell us?"

"If there are more of them. If there's something else at play here. Maybe a piece of what Negan's _really_ planning. I'm with you, I think that low-level hit man bullshit was just a warning shot." Carol sighed hard, reaching out to rub away the newly-formed goosebumps on Michonne's exposed arms. "We have to get creative, but we're going to follow every lead until we find something that makes sense, all right? We're gonna get him. Do you trust me?"

"Yes. Just...hurry."

Carol paused, and then had to say what Michonne didn't want to hear. "Don't do anything that'll make them pull your protection, or consider you a target, Michonne. At least...not yet."

The two women gazed at each other, their history together gathering around them like invisible storm clouds. Carol wasn't stupid. She had helped Michonne steal that money, after all. She'd been there when Eugene got himself killed. But he had saved Michonne's life in the process - gave her a way out. Carol did not want Michonne to throw away her life or put herself in even graver danger trying to make a run for it, after everything they'd been through to get her out alive.

But if Michonne _did_ run, Carol would continue protecting her for as long as she could. Like she always had.

"Just find out what he wants, Carol. And I won't."

"You need me to get anythin' else while I'm at it?" They heard Daryl grumble at Sabine by the door as she waited impatiently to leave.

She nodded. "You can get me to Fresno."

Carol couldn't help laughing, ending her serious conversation with Michonne. They all took that as their cue. Michonne gave Rick a meaningful look and he nodded, signaling with his eyes that he would stay put and be waiting for her when she was done.

Michonne followed everyone out, Sasha coming to walk at her side, wrapping a protective arm around her slender shoulders. Carol gave Michonne a reassuring nod and opened the trunk for Daryl, who dumped the duffle bag and backpack inside irritably and reached out for the keys. He was going to drive, so he could blow off steam by concentrating on the road.

Andre ran over to give his mother another tight hug. She kissed him on the cheek and neck, then reluctantly released him again. Sasha wrapped Andre in a loose chokehold and walked him back toward the SUV parked on curb.

Sabine walked slowly toward her sister. "Please, stay safe, Michonne." She said quietly, genuine concern etched into her world weary, yet elegantly beautiful face. "And I promise you, I will protect Andre with my life."

Michonne reached out and took Sabine's hands. She pulled her closer, and they touched foreheads. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Sabine chuckled. "Same here, kid."

"I know you'll protect Andre. You've been protecting him his entire life. Thank you." Tears slipped down Michonne's cheeks and she let her sister go, the moment of truce passing. "Now get outta here before I send Sasha with you."

"Oh, Lord, no." Sabine wiped her damp eyes and gave an amused snort. She straightened her hair and took a deep breath. "That girl gets on my last nerve."

"I can hear you, Sabine." Sasha said from behind her. "I don't like you, either, you know." Andre giggled.

Sabine rolled her eyes and tilted her head back to retort. "No one likes an eavesdropping motor mouth, Sasha."

"Ladies, we gotta go. Plane's waitin', let's wrap it up." Daryl grunted, climbing into the driver's seat. Carol smirked and scooped Andre up, depositing him in the back seat and buckling him in.

"Now he wants to give orders." Sabine sighed. "Alright, that's my cue. Tell your Inspector Grimes good night for me." She raised a knowing eyebrow. "Try not to jump his bones as soon as you step through the door."

"Rick is a good guy." Michonne ignored her insult. "Andre likes him. So do I. This may not be...ideal timing, exactly, but...I don't care." She shrugged. "So just deal with it."

"All right. I'll back off, I promise. I'll call you when we land. Good night." With that, Sabine turned and got into the car.

Sasha and Michonne watched them drive off. Tobin and the other agents had disappeared, for all Michonne could tell. She knew there was a surveillance van parked somewhere around, but she didn't bother looking for it. Her home was now enclosed in an invisible fortress, courtesy of the federal government. Whoopee.

Sasha made her way back up the front walkway toward Michonne, the keys to Abraham's truck already in her hand. She stopped in front of Michonne and grinned. "Sooo...that was fuuuun."

Michonne swatted at her, not forgetting her betrayal at the dinner table. "Yeah, not thanks to you, Miss Twenty Questions."

"Hey, I asked him like two questions compared to your damned relatives." Sasha shot back before bouncing on her toes and giving Michonne a kiss on the cheek. "But you're right, I'm sorry. Soooo, lemme me make it up to you."

Michonne lost her breath at the knowing gleam in Sasha's eyes. "I thought you were spending the night…?"

Sasha shrugged, still grinning wickedly. "I actually need to return Abe's truck. He has a bowling tournament tomorrow and my shit is still in the shop after he _wrecked_ it." She rolled her eyes hard. "Don't ask. Anyway - I'm outta here for a few hours. I'll come back at...say… three or four in the morning."

"Are you serious?" Michonne thought this was a ridiculous plan, but she could also feel the invisible pull coming from the sexy stranger waiting for her inside her house. The possibility of being alone with Rick right now ignited a fire in Michonne that made her heart flutter and her sex quake.

Sasha wasn't fooled by the innocent act either. "Homeboy hung in there tonight, and you earned this. So go. Make mama proud. Love you." Sasha began to back up towards Abe's truck. Michonne stood mutely, watching her go.

When Sasha had driven away with a wink and a smile, some god-awful country music of Abe's blasting in the subwoofers in the trunk, Michonne turned back to her house. The door was still open and Rick had just crossed into her view, somehow sensing that she was alone now.

They stared at each other pleasantly across the short distance, their eyes alight with mutual desire. Michonne followed the pull of his gaze and the tantalizing sight of his sturdy body standing those tight jeans in the middle of her foyer.

She made it up the porch steps and into the house, her eyes still on his, and closed the door behind her with a soft click.


	10. the frequency

**This chapter is allll Richonne. Enjoy!**

 **WARNING: NOT. SAFE. FOR. WORK.**

* * *

 _curiosity is the key to my frequency_

 _explore what you find, and now_

 _yeah, yeah, widen your view_

 _and tune on into the frequency_

 _chill out,'cause love is the rule_

 _now, follow it to the frequency_

 _-'Frequency', Kid Cudi_

* * *

Inside, Rick listened to the faint music mingling with the voices wafting in on the humid air. Outside, Michonne said her goodbyes to her sister and son.

He didn't move at first. He had to get ahold of himself.

Michonne was _so beautiful_ , and his heart ached for her, having to be separated from her child under such dangerous, complicated circumstances. He saw all the signs of Andre's longing for a father figure, and he could only imagine the burden such an absence had on the two women. From the little time he spent with Andre, he could tell they were both doing a fine job of raising him, but there was nothing they could do to fill that void. It was hidden too deep for them to reach.

Rick sighed, beginning to pace.

He was trying to give Michonne her privacy, but he found himself restless for some answers to bring her. Or some way of helping her face all this, of being there for her.

 _She doesn't need a savior, Rick,_ he chastised himself harshly. He didn't want to treat Michonne like she was some charity case. Nor did he want to use the danger she was in as an excuse to feed his by now obvious obsession with her. Now that he was this close, he couldn't stay away from her.

If her sister Sabine only knew the half of it…

The fact was: Rick meant every word he'd said at dinner. But what he _hadn't_ said was that he was so completely drawn to Michonne that he wouldn't be able to walk away now if he tried. He was hopelessly enamored with her; he was _crazy_ about her. He felt it within the first few days of watching her.

Meeting Andre, seeing her with him tonight, even getting to understand how Sabine worked - all any of it did was further ensnare him.

He stopped pacing and wandered out to the foyer, noticing that Sasha and Michonne were talking in the front yard. Sabine and Andre were gone.

He tried not to listen. Instead he headed into the living room to occupy himself with something. Anything, to hide the evidence of how thinking about Michonne was making him feel right now.

He loitered about, examining the decorations around the room, but still couldn't stop the thoughts from piling up in his head, stimulating him inside his snug jeans like an invisible caress. He eyed the plush, midnight blue couch, thinking of bending her over it and burying his cock into her from behind.

Rick shook that thought away with sluggish difficulty.

He made up his mind to stop staring at her when they came back. He didn't want anything he was going to regret to rise up in full view of her best friend. Sasha seemed nice, and loyal, but also like the kind of girlfriend that would take pleasure in putting Michonne on the spot (Lori had _two_ of those).

Suddenly, he heard country music blasting from the driveway through the living room window. Rick turned to see truck headlights backing out, taking the Kenny Chesney with them.

He frowned, swallowing hard as he stared through the window at the disappearing headlights. Sasha was leaving. That meant he and Michonne were alone now.

His feet carried him out of the living room and into the foyer without him even noticing - until he was meeting Michonne's gaze. She was coming back into the house, and she _was_ alone.

Rick stopped in his tracks, settling down into a rigid stance, his heart pounding. He couldn't move forward, or he wouldn't stop until she was in his arms.

He had to be just a little more patient with her.

She'd just parted ways with her son after a long dinner arguing with her sister about a dangerous situation. All in front of her next door neighbor, who she just met. He tried to relax as he watched her coming. _But...damn._ His fantasies were nothing compared to the real thing.

When Michonne saw Rick standing there, waiting for her, she couldn't deny herself any longer.

The aching between her legs was too much all of a sudden. It was tuned to him like an antenna picking up on whatever powerfully alluring frequency he was emitting. It had only gotten stronger as she walked up the porch steps. The closer she got to him, the more she wanted him. The knowledge that they were finally alone only emboldened her.

Michonne kept her gaze on him as she walked slowly up the porch steps and through the door. Then she closed it behind her until she heard the click as it shut. She turned the bottom lock with her thin fingers, still staring at him.

She stood there gathering her nerve, leaning against the heavy, cool wood for support, her lips slightly parted.

They watched each other for a minute as the low, steady, seductive music filled the silence for them.

Rick leaned slightly to the side, waiting. Pink lips looking hot and electric, blue eyes shining. Then they began to roam. She felt the intensity of his gaze burning a path in their wake. First along her neck, then to her breasts, making her nipples tingle and spring upward as if by his will alone. He burned her from her breasts to her thighs and finally down to her ankles with those intense moonstones of his.

He was contemplating every inch of her.

Rick watched as her nipples went hard underneath his heated gaze. She was only wearing a lace bralet and probably a matching thong under the romper, judging by the lack of a panty line he'd noticed earlier.

The simple yet elegant garment was draped so exquisitely on her that it made his mouth water and his dick hard before he finished raking his eyes over every inch of her. Her locs were hanging down across her shoulders, framing her lovely face, her lashes hooding her sparkling brown eyes.

When his rose to meet hers again, she could see there was a question in them. He wanted her. Badly. But he wouldn't move until she was ready for him.

"Come here, Rick." Michonne finally whispered, her stomach fluttering with heated desire. "I need you."

It was what he'd been waiting for.

A jolt of arousal shot from Rick's abdomen to his already hard cock. On the next breath, he was sauntering forward heavily, closing the space between them. Michonne's lashes slipped down further to cover her blown out pupils as Rick's solid, warm body finally met with her toned yet pliant curves, pinning her to the door. She unfolded herself around him, leaving no room for space between them.

A hushed gasp escaped her as he slid his bandaged hand along her thigh and lifted it to bury himself between her legs through her silky romper. He licked her bottom lip into his mouth and _sucked_ with intense appreciation, grinding his erection into her.

A deep groan made its way out of Rick's throat as he kissed her like she was his dessert. He was already lost. His head grew foggy with lust as his pink lips crashed into Michonne's pillow-soft ones over and over again, licking and tasting them.

Michonne's quivering sex grew slick, hot and anxious for him. Her legs tightened around his waist so she could get as much friction as possible, wanting him so badly it hurt. He reached under her romper to grip her plump ass cheek with his good hand - _hard_.

"Mmm…!" She moaned into his mouth, her tongue still dancing with his as she rubbed herself compulsively along his long, throbbing need. Rick slapped her ass and reclaimed her again, driving her back against the door. She bucked into him. "Fuck!"

His hand crept around from her stinging ass as his kisses moved from her mouth to her jawline, then her neck. He kissed a scorching, electrified trail down to her collarbone, licking and nipping at her as he went. He was so hard for her, he wanted to rip her clothes off. But he was determined to take his time.

Show her who she was really dealing with.

When his thumb found her dripping center, he stiffened even harder, causing him to groan deep and low. She was budding for him and soaking wet.

Michonne keened breathlessly, running her fingers through his hair, her nails on his scalp sending chills through him.

He wanted her over the back of that couch. Now.

Rick scooped Michonne up in his strong grip, pulling her from the door. She couldn't help kissing his warm neck as he carried her in a few long strides into the living room.

She was kissing his lips again by the time he set her down, holding onto his neck still as he let go of her and she slid her legs from his body. Rick leaned his forehead into hers, allowing his hands to roam. He reached up and pulled one strap of her romper from her soft, shapely shoulder, kissing another hot trail with his damp lips as he went.

Michonne could feel him everywhere, making her senses go haywire. His strong body pressed into hers, the scent of his leathery cologne drawing her in, his mouth all over her - the long, thick, girth of him through his snug jeans. Her hand found its way down his shirt from around his neck, headed straight for Rick's dick. When her fingers finally caressed the tip of the head that she could feel through the course fabric, Rick grunted and snatched her top off, thrusting himself into her palm. His head was down and his mouth was on her breast in seconds as Michonne stroked his length, massaging him with her fingers and in her palm, losing her damned mind for him.

He sucked and licked her nipple through the sexy black lace until she was so wet she couldn't see straight. Then...slowly, his nostrils flaring...he let her nipple go, backing her up to the back of the couch with steady, purposeful steps. His gaze remained fixed on her lips as they went, his arm tightening around her waist.

Michonne could sense it.

That _something_ she always saw behind his eyes, wound up tight and humming inside him, just for her.

She was about to get it.

She was at his mercy, following his lead as he suddenly spun her around. Her ass landed smack against his bulge. Before she could catch her breath, his lips were attached to her neck again.

Rick moved faster, now, reaching up to remove the other straps. He continued to lavish her with kisses as he pulled the top of her romper down and unhooked her bra. It fell away onto the couch, freeing her arms so she could reach up and run her fingers through his curls.

Once he got her unzipped, Rick sank to a crouching position and pulled her clothes - thong and all - down over her gorgeous ass. The damp crotch of Michonne's thong came away soaking wet with her juices, and Rick immediately leaned in to kiss the back of her pussy as his fingers caressed her skin. Michonne shivered, moaning long and hard, arching her ass into his face as he kissed her indulgently.

Her scent drove him crazy. He licked the precum coating his lips, his cock jumping impatiently in his jeans. She tasted so good Rick had to bury his tongue inside one last time. Pressing his face into her from behind, he settled himself on his knees, causing Michonne's torso to fall over the back of the couch.

Her pretty, heavy, dewdrop breasts heaved with her breathless cries as Rick slapped her ass again and ate her out with relish. He licked her with his scorching tongue, without an ounce of hesitation - then slowly, repeatedly sucked her sweet, juicy clit into his mouth until she finally came.

"F-f-fuuuuck…! Yeesssss…!" Michonne moaned and hissed, clutching at her plush velvet pillows, her body singing at the sensation of Rick's thick, hot, wet tongue licking and thrusting into her. She felt his stubble along the chiseled edge of his strong jaw between her slick thighs; her lips and cheeks vibrated with his groans until he was finally sated and let her go.

Her locs had fallen over her face and she was dizzy with skyrocketing pleasure, but he wasn't finished with her yet.

Rick stood up slowly, licking his lips and reaching down to unbuckle his belt as he went. Michonne bit her lip, tingling from head to toe, and tried to stand up to face him - give him as good as she'd gotten.

She wanted his cock in her mouth now.

But before she made it far, she felt his fingers on her back. And then his warm palm gently impeding her momentum, pressing her firmly back down on her stomach.

Without a word, Rick sent his strong, elegant fingers sliding along her skin, down her back, to caress her ass. He gave her a light, but firm _slap._ She arched her back, seeking out his bulge. It didn't come, but she could hear that it was on its way. She was all slippery and still dripping with her own cum, and she began to throb again, yearning for Rick's cock to be inside of her.

Michonne's skin was like silk. He couldn't wait to touch her again.

But right now, Rick was so hard he was suffocating in his jeans. He got his belt undone and reached into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. He pulled out a condom, then tossed the wallet onto the seat of the couch.

Michonne lay over the couch on her stomach, standing in her strappy heeled sandals, her pussy practically humming with anticipation. She let the pulsing beat of the music be a poor substitute for stimulation to her throbbing clit as she waited for him.

Rick eyed her in steely silence as he got rid of his tie and unbuttoned his shirt to expose his muscular torso. In the dimmed overhead lights posted along the high, arching ceiling, he could make out Michonne's glistening lips and pulsating, dripping little hole, begging for him.

He only tore his gaze from her breathtaking pussy to roll the condom onto his length.

Aching with need, Rick stepped up to her and took hold of her by the hips. It was difficult, but he took his time, rubbing his hot, slick, waxy length slowly along her folds. She whimpered and her eyes slipped shut.

She was ready for him.

His hands slid almost reverently over her skin until his thumbs were couched in the grooves between the top of her hips and her round, thick rump. He pulled her into his pelvis until her damp sex was tickling his pubic hair.

Rick parted her cheeks with one hand and thrust slowly inside, sinking right into her, filling her to the brim until he bottomed out. He exhaled with relief, his pink lips parted slightly. He'd been waiting for this all day.

Her ass bounced against his slender pelvis and she grunted with pleasure, clawing at the couch. She felt Rick from the back to the very core of her, stroking her deep. He began to drive himself into her, holding onto her with one hand, fucking her faster and faster, harder and harder.

 _Shit_ , she felt so good. He could hardly believe he was doing this. He'd imagined it for so long. But he forgot his fantasies and concentrated on his reality: the vision of Michonne's exquisite, juicy ass bouncing up and down along his long cock. Her elegantly curved spine, adorned by toned muscles and the sexiest dip he'd ever seen.

Her thick spools of black locs fell over her face as he pounded into her.

His cock slid in and out of her, caught in the grip of her ass and pushed out again, coated in her cum. Over and over and over again. Until, overwhelmed, he slowed down, causing her to gasp and finally stand up. She arched her back and pushed her ass down onto his shaft, then pulled up again in a steady rhythm that matched the beat of the music, hypnotising him. Feeling as though he was being challenged, Rick wrapped a strong arm around her, cupping her breast in his palm, kissing and licking the salty-sweet sweat from her neck as he pistoned into her from behind.

And he sealed his fate. With each thrust, he became even more attached to her. He didn't think he'd ever wanted anyone as much he wanted Michonne in his life. He would never be satisfied of her.

Michonne felt the same. She felt her addiction to him welling up inside her like an ocean tide, radiating from her wet pussy as he pounded into her fast, then achingly slow, then faster again. Hitting her in that _fuckin' sweet spot_ each time. The one that made her want to say dirty shit and do dirty things. _Mmm_ , she felt the urge as his sturdy body wrapped around her, his firm grip tightening on her, his heavy palm massaging one of her bouncing breasts.

Drunk on her, Rick reached down to massage her clit, which was already tender and sensitive from what he'd done to it earlier. Michonne cried out and grabbed him by the neck, her fingers curling into his thick hair as she rode his cock.

Feeling like a fiend, and somewhat like her old self, she leaned back against him and whispered in his ear: "I'm gonna touch myself the next time you watch me, Rick…"

He almost buckled over, having to let go of her clit to grab the back of the couch. Rick buried his face into the hair at the back of her neck, sliding his other hand from her breast to her throat, groaning like a bear, pounding harder. Michonne was on the edge, but she wanted him to cum first. It was only fair for bending her over the couch earlier. She kept going.

"I want you to watch me strip." She closed her eyes, losing herself in her words and her pleasure; his cock pistoning into her, his other hand resuming its command of her clit. "Watch me spread for you and make myself cum for you... _mmm_...I'll do it for _you_ , baby. Just you."

Rick lost it, cumming inside her like a gunshot. He brought Michonne along with him as her clit exploded with spasms, which only made him cum harder.

They found each other's lips and kissed fiercely, riding out the cosmic high of their mutual ecstasy until it finally began to drag its clutches from them. Rick once again moved his kisses from her mouth to her damp neck, slowing his thrusts to a snail's pace, his arms still wrapped around her shapely body.

Finally, almost reluctantly, he pulled out. Almost as if on cue, the music began to fade out, and then stopped, having reached the end of her playlist.

"Stay over tonight." Michonne whispered in the ensuing quiet.

Rick rubbed his sated cock along the ridge of her plump ass, still kissing her, still holding her tight.

"Alright." Came his husky drawl.

* * *

Michonne started a new playlist and got them something to drink.

Hercules made an appearance, poking his head around the corner from the doorway, then skittered off again. He must not have fancied the heavy aroma of sex in the room. Or maybe he'd been hiding from Sabine.

Now Rick sat in nothing but his boxer briefs, leaning against his naked leg, watching Michonne open a beer for him across her black marble coffee table.

As usual, he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

She was still naked, sitting on her calves, her feet folded under that shapely ass of hers. Her breasts were heavy but bouncy and so round and dark and delectable-looking that he had a hard time keeping his eyes off of those, either. Her hair was continuously falling into her glowing face, and she still avoided his gaze as she pushed his beer in front of him and picked up her glass of wine.

Rick accepted the beer, still watching as Michonne took a deep breath and sat back. Sipping her wine, her eyes finally rose to his. He found himself smiling as a sardonic grin spread across her plush lips. "So I think my big sister likes you."

They both fell into quiet laughter at the same time, enjoying (in hindsight) the awkward memory of Sabine's ruthless questioning during dinner.

Rick rubbed the fine salt and pepper stubble on his chiseled chin and took a swig of his beer, nodding in agreement. "This might be premature, but...I think I won her over." He drawled, his crystal eyes meeting hers, shining under her elegant lighting. "She's just worried about you, that's all. She's right to be."

His expression got serious, and his heart quickened, wanting to tell her how damaged and dark he really was. Wanting to warn her off yet pull her closer at the same time.

Michonne stared at him, so attracted to him that she had to take a beat to let his words sink in.

"What do you mean?" She shook her head. "You've been... _more_ than good, Rick. The way you were with her tonight? You didn't _have_ to tell her anything. But you did. And I know it was hard for you."

He shook his head somewhat humbly. "It _was_ hard, but...it was alright. I wanted to."

Michonne couldn't help a light smile, marveling at him, despite his serious expression. "And the way you were with Andre. He really likes you. I was kinda blown away." She sighed. "He doesn't know about his father. And he hasn't really met...a man in my life before. I didn't know what to expect."

She flinched, hoping she wasn't being too aggressive with how she was describing him.

They had only just met. But...she found herself wanting many more nights like this already.

He let her words wash over him, glad that he had made a good impression. Glad that he could help Michonne carry some of the burden of being around her over-protective sister at a time like this.

Glad that he had made a connection with Andre, something he hadn't expected to want.

It was kind of a miracle to him, considering the condition he'd been in just two nights ago. The darkness he'd wandered around in for over a year. But he knew - felt in his _gut_ \- that this sudden hope in him that he could find his way back to his old self had more to do with Michonne than anything else.

Still...he had to be straight with her. Sabine may have been a bit of a hardass, but she wasn't far off. Michonne had to know that. He used to be an honest man, once upon a time.

Rick took a deep breath, for what he was about to do next. Preparing himself for any outcome.

"When you asked me last night, how much I've been watchin' you..." he began, swallowing hard, his gaze flickering to the table. Then he looked directly at her, and forced himself to tell the truth. "I knew your bus route because I watched you get up, get dressed, feed your cat, and walk up that hill almost every day for a week."

Michonne's heart stopped. Rick's blue eyes glinted. And he continued:

"I know your favorite yoga poses. I know that red is the only wine you drink, but you keep white for company. Thing is...you _rarely_ have company, Michonne." He sighed, long and hard. The ghosts of his lonely nights spent watching her through his favorite window slithered through him, making a home in his chest. "I know you usually eat standin' up. I know your favorite underwear. 'Cause they're my favorite too. Michonne...I haven't taken my eyes off you since the day I first saw you...standin' by your mailbox...shielding your eyes from the sun."

She could only sit there and listen to him, her nipples sprouting and her head spinning. She thought back through the weeks that passed since the day she saw him carrying boxes into his gloomy house. He'd been watching her that whole time. Since that day.

And now he was here, in her living room. Strong and sexy and radiating an intense pull that only got stronger with the knowledge that he'd seen her in her most intimate moments. She _should_ feel violated.

But she was...incredibly turned on. She didn't know if any other man would have this effect on her. But right now, with the way he was looking at her, and the way the sound of his husky tenor resounded through her body, down into her sex - Michonne didn't care.

Rick waited, holding his breath, his jaw clenched.

"I told you, Rick." She finally said, her voice low but steady. "I think I already knew that." She sat her wine glass down and leaned back, unfurling her legs from underneath her.

Michonne got to her knees, crawling around the table, not taking her eyes from him. He watched her come to him. Gracefully, she crawled into his arms and wrapped her legs around him, landing her plump ass firmly in his lap. "I think...I _like_ that." She confessed softly.

His dick started to get hard immediately.

Breath hitching in his chest, Rick's arms slid around her naked torso, pulling her closer to him.

Still, he waited.

Michonne stared into his eyes, letting him see how much she wanted him.

Rick drew out her old self - the girl that went after what she wanted. The girl that ran off with a notorious criminal because of how powerful and sexy he made her feel. Back then, she had been afraid for her life many times over, but deep down, she enjoyed the power Negan possessed. She _knew_ what he did, who he was, and part of her stayed because she was walking on diamond clouds. Miserable, alone, terrified...but no man was allowed to look her in the eye except _her_ man, and a gun was just an accessory.

Yes, Rick was dark, and dangerous. But he was also good. There was never, ever, _anything_ good about Negan. Whatever 'goodness' he possessed was a flimsy illusion. But Rick's good heart was _real_. She could _feel_ it.

It was the goodness, along with the darkness, that attracted her to the sad-eyed stranger next door.

How he was with her son, who she knew deep down had been yearning for some sort of father figure all these years. The way he protected her without question, against a dangerous intruder, against her powerful ex, even against her sister's abrasive nature.

And the look in his eyes...every single time they met hers.

Michonne would be fooling herself if she denied that she'd been wanting Rick Grimes just as much as he'd wanted her from the moment she saw him, too.

Biting her lip, she let her gaze slip to his beautiful mouth, so pink and perfect. Then her eyes found his crystal blues again, making herself comfortable in his lap.

"Tell me more…" she asked, feeling her sex quiver from the lustful glint in his eyes at her request.

Rick's arms tightened around her, his hands finding their way to grip her ass. "What d'you wanna know?" He growled, his hips grinding into hers of their own will.

Michonne kissed his lips, causing him to lean into her hungrily as he indulged himself on her mouth, transfixed by her sudden boldness. Yet another side to her he didn't think he'd ever see. A side that turned him on, instantly.

She let his lips go, licking at his scratchy chin. Sinking her moist sex into his rapidly developing hardon.

"I want to know how you do it." She breathed, her sexy voice driving a corkscrew of lust through his abdomen to his cock. The fire in her eyes enslaved him. She was serious. She wanted to know. "What you see. How you feel...what you're thinking."

Rick gazed at her lips, her breasts, her eyes. He gave her what she wanted.

"There's a window in my bedroom…" he uttered, staring at her hard now, painting the truest picture for her that he could. _Wanting_ her to know, before she got ahead of herself. Wanting to turn her on. "I keep my blinds closed. Except when I'm watchin' you."

His low, serious voice made her pussy begin to ache for him. He was getting harder and harder, precum beginning to pool and then spool down his shaft in sticky rivulets.

"When I'm watchin' you, I open 'em just enough to see you. I keep it dark, so you can't see me. So I can't see myself." He massaged her ass, continuing his dark tale. "The first night I watched you, I didn't know what I was doin'." He confessed. "I just knew I couldn't get you outta my head after that."

He remembered that night vividly. It had been the night he'd fought off six henchmen at a warehouse down by a river dock to get to some girls they'd snatched, with nothing but his gun and a tip off from Glenn. Two of them ended up in comas. He was still tied up in court because of that one.

"It had just stopped rainin', and you'd just come home from a shift at the hospital."

Michonne remembered that night. It had been nearly two in the morning.

He sighed, his breath caressing her skin, hot and tingly, making her nipples ache. Again tonight, he was talking more than he ever had. Opening up to her as they sat alone, yearning for each other under her dim living room lights.

She just listened, drawn to him.

Rick remembered Michonne dragging herself into her house, glowing and damp from the rain. She looked tired, and lonely, but beautiful. She took off her pants, right there in her kitchen, tucked into a huge glass of wine, and cried. Standing against her sturdy island while her cat sat vigilantly at her feet.

He'd never forgotten the sight.

He'd been nursing his injuries, alone in his bedroom, feeling sorry for himself, when he happened to look up through his blinds and noticed her kitchen light on. Acting on instinct, he'd gotten up from the chair at his table where he was soaking his cut and bruised knuckles and turned off his lamp light. Then he stalked back to his window and stood there in his soon-to-be favorite spot. Making a home there for the first time. Watching her.

His knuckles still bleeding and dripping, his soul stirring, feeling a connection to her latch into him so deeply that it stunned him. That was the moment. Seeing her bow her head and sob into her wine glass, thinking she was alone.

That was the moment Rick knew he wanted - _needed_ \- Michonne.

He hadn't taken his eyes off of her since.

His need grew fully hard for her now, remembering it. "You were so beautiful to me. You looked so alone, but you weren't." He gazed into her eyes, focusing on her intently again. She was still _so_ beautiful. "You _aren't_. I meant what I said. I wanna protect you." Rick told her earnestly, tenderly, clutching at her. "And I wanna fuck you until you scream." He growled in the next breath, with just as much sincerity. Michonne closed her eyes and leaned into him, closing the space between them, crushing her breasts against his lean, warm chest. "I want you to sit on my face. I want my tongue inside you."

He began to kiss her hungrily, licking and sucking at her thick, luscious lips. Then he licked a scorching path down to her breast, where he attacked her nipple, pulling it into his mouth. He sucked on it as if he would discover nector deep in its core. Michonne felt an eruption of molten heat between her legs, and she reached down to search blindly for his manhood.

"Keep going, Rick…" She urged, catching hold of him and pulling him out of his briefs, reveling in the feel of him in her palm. _Soft_ and _thick_ and _hard_. Dripping with warm, sticky precum. And all _for her_.

Rick was so overcome with lust he could hardly stand it. He sucked on her breasts, forcing her to stay still and take it - feeling bold, _predatory_.

"I want you six ways from Sunday." Rick confessed gruffly, finally letting go of her perfect, honeypot breast. He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her and talking against her desperate panting. "I've wanted to eat your pussy since I saw you doin' yoga for the first time. I _had_ to taste you last night. I wanna taste you _now.._." he breathed.

As he spoke, he reached down to dive his fingers into her _other_ lips, so warm and wet and throbbing for him. He massaged her clit in slow, purposeful circles.

"I've watched you eat, and laugh, and drink wine with those perfect lips of yours, and now I want 'em wrapped around my cock." He unleashed as she stroked him, thrusting himself into her massaging hand.

She wanted this - fuck _he_ wanted this. _She was giving him permission._ A dam broke inside him, and he kept going, just like she had while pumping her delicious ass into him over the back of the couch. He was determined to make her drip and throb for him before he made his next move, spurred on by the lustful sound of her moans and the feel of her amazing backside in his grip.

"That's how much I've always wanted you, Michonne…" He told her, all seriousness weighing down his words, his dark truth spoken against her lips. He burned for her. "If you tell me you want me, too, I'm not gonna stop. _I can't stop…_ "

He kissed her feverishly, thrusting into her hand, ready to fuck her right here on the floor.

Michonne opened her eyes and licked at his lips, which still tasted salty-sweet with a mixture of her cum and the cool beer. She tongued her way to his earlobe, easing it into her mouth with the tip. Rick hissed and bucked into her, his dripping, waxy head stroking her clit.

"Let's have both, baby." She whispered into his ear, causing his stomach muscles to tighten. "Put your cock in my mouth..." She licked and nipped at his earlobe, massaging his wet, bulbous head, aching for him. "And lick my pussy until I scream. Mmm... _please_ , Rick. Now."

She didn't have to tell him twice.

Rick lifted Michonne off of him, seizing a nearby throw pillow and positioning it under his head. Then he lay back, his long, muscular body unfolding before her.

Michonne followed his cue, helping him by sliding his underwear down his legs and off his feet.

Her voyeuristic neighbor grabbed hold of her, pulling one of her legs over his head. Then he grasped her thighs and spread her open, pulling her down so that her pussy was positioned perfectly against his hot lips. Once Rick's hands slid from her thighs to her ass, he immediately began to suck and lick, feasting on her juices. He spread her ass cheeks and went to town, causing Michonne to moan and ride his face.

His scratchy stubble, hot skin against hers, strong, wet tongue and big beautiful hands gripping her flesh caused carnal lust to ricochet through her every nerve ending. She let Rick suck on her clit for a little while, hypnotised by the feel of him kneading her cheeks with his heavy palms.

Then, her mouth watering, her shame gone, she pushed one of his legs down urgently, resting her weight on one of her hands on the side of him to keep herself steady. Licking her lips, Michonne grasped his rock hard dick in the cool, smooth palm of her friend hand.

Rick grunted, releasing her clit and thrusting against her damp mouth.

Michonne took Rick into her mouth - enveloping him until he hit the back of her throat, then pulling away with hard, slow expertise.

 _I'm a lost fuckin' cause_ , was all he could think, his torso rising from the floor a little as their stomachs met. He he knew was now going to seek out this feeling with her every chance he got.

Michonne sucked and stroked him like he was a Georgia peach as Rick licked and got himself messy feasting on her like she was a sweet candy apple - all the while Hercules' green eyes gleamed at them from the abyss of her dark kitchen.

She focused on his glistening, sensitive head, undulating movements with the tip of her sopping wet tongue before sucking on him again. Rick thought he was gonna pass out, it felt so good. Mmm, and she _tasted_ so good, perched on top of him. He gave special attention to the juicy red sweet spot hidden by her slick folds with the tip of his tongue in response. He arched his chin upward, settling down onto the throw pillow, feasting on Michonne's tender pussy as she sucked his cock and ran her nails through the hairs on his thigh.

"Michonne…" he growled reverently against her swollen, soaked lips. He was ready for her to cum all over him, in his mouth. He licked her from her ass to her clit, sucking and fucking her with his tongue. "You're gonna cum now, baby."

"Mmmm...nooo…" she gasped at the way his deep drawl rumbled against her pussy. She let him pop out from her mouth, her saliva and his phantom seed coating her lips and chin as she begged for mercy. "Wait, Rick, please…!"

She didn't know if she was ready for what was coming. And she wasn't done with his magnificent cock.

But Rick paid her no mind this time, proceeding to work her clit mercilessly with hard, insatiable intent.

He licked her in a relentless, pulsing beat that caused her orgasm to build and build as she rode his face, now simply stroking his manhood in her weakening hand. She was so lost in what he was doing to her that she couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut - his thick, dripping head bumping against her open mouth as she panted helplessly.

The erotic sensation of it only spurred him on. Rick drew out Michonne's cum like an expert drilling for oil, using his tongue like a skilled, unbreakable battering ram to beat her clit into submission. All the while he held onto her possessively, determined to drive her as crazy as she drove him.

It worked. She quickly changed her tune.

"Oh _yes, baby!_ I'm gonna cum, don't stooooop….!" Michonne groaned indulgently, not giving a damn anymore. There was no one there but them. No one to tell her she was wrong, or foolish, or crazy, or too desperate to spread her legs for him. He slapped her ass again and kept going. When the weighty reverberation finally reached her clit, his sexy, dusky skinned, tragically beautiful neighbor broke apart at the seams around his face, spasming and oozing for him. " _Unnnghhh…! Oh gohhdddd, Riiiick…._ "

He growled and grabbed her in both hands, pulling her closer, soaking his mouth and chin in her tasty, hot cum.

Rick kissed her lips and clit patiently while Michonne rode it out for a few breathless beats, but she wasted no time resuming her devoted attentions to his still bone-straight penis. Her fierce orgasm had only fueled her lust. He turned his head and bit down on her slick inner thigh as the object of his obsession lavished him with the graceful stroke and purposeful pull of her exquisite mouth.

He jumped and twitched against her tongue, lifting his hips involuntarily, thrusting gently up into her mouth, seeking out the deep well of her throat. She let him come, expertly opening up for him, holding her breath until he exhaled and groaned, pulling out again.

 _Jesus Christ_...Rick thought, panting hoarsely now.

He felt Michonne use the ensuing saliva to coat him again before going back for another mouthful of him.

She paused to roll his balls around between her amazing lips, causing him to bite her again.

Then - from sheer muscle memory and a searing desire to show Rick who he was really dealing with - Michonne used her hand and her mouth to tease and tantalize him until he was a thrusting, grunting ball of nerve endings. She carried on with focused intent now, conjuring white heat that spread from the pit of his stomach to the very tip of his head. He thrust into her mouth faster and then a little faster still, biting her and clenching his abs tight, about to explode any moment.

He mouth was so slippery, hot, and wet inside - opening for him to allow him to slide all the way to the back of her throat without missing a beat. And her cool hands stroking him in a snug grip, stimulating his head with each tug. It was like a drug, what she was doing to him.

He sought another hit and another hit until he couldn't take anymore.

Rick came in Michonne's mouth, clamping down on her thigh so hard it hurt a little. But she ignored the pain, egged on by it. She caught and swallowed every wave as he emptied himself inside her, his back as rigid as a steel rod, trapping him in ecstasy.

Finally Rick stopped thrusting, slowing down, breathing hard through his nostrils, now kissing her where he'd bitten her to soothe the sting. Michonne nursed his still-twitching, hair-sensitive penis, making herself comfortable on top of his strong, sturdy body.

She licked him clean like a popsicle before letting him go.

"Point taken…" he finally conceded out of the blue after a moment of intoxicated silence.

Michonne laughed, realizing that he was referring to earlier. When he was trying to warn her off, like she was some kind of doe-eyed good girl just because she was an army colonel's daughter.

She smirked, kissing his dick again.

"One thing you should know about me, Rick." She told him, licking the leftover cum that was oozing slowly from the tiny hole in his pink head.

His hips bucked, his breath hitching as she caught him by surprise yet again.

"I usually get what I want."

* * *

Rick concentrated on the feel of Michonne's silky skin under his fingertips, listening to her low, steady voice.

They decided to open a window and lay naked together, having worked up a sweat.

He held her tucked against him with one arm, the other hand covering one of her smooth, round cheeks. Michonne's leg was draped over his waist, her body pressed across the side of his lean frame.

"I know people probably think I'm crazy, sleeping with my neighbor when it's very possible my life's in danger." She sighed. "Maybe I am."

She tilted her head upward to look at the sporadic car lights passing across the ceiling in the now dark room as she spoke.

Rick nuzzled into her hair, his eyes partially closed, his lips ghosting across her chin and neck with every few words. He listened and concentrated on sending his touch across every inch of her that he could get to.

"Maybe you _are_ dangerous, Rick." She turned slightly to gaze at the Adonis-like outline of his jaw and the prismatic shine of his heavily lidded eyes."But I'm no angel, either. I'm _drawn_ to how dangerous you are. And I _like_ how good you are."

He moved his face from her hair to meet her gaze, swallowing hard, really listening.

"So _no_ , baby…" Michonne shook her head at him, her voice deep and confident in a way he hadn't heard since he met her. "I don't care what anyone thinks of what we're doing. As long as Andre is okay and smiling the way he smiles at you, we're good. We'll always be good."

Then his neighbor kissed his neck sweetly, her lashes fluttering, so drugged by his manly scent and strong, stoic presence.

"We need this." She whispered, looking into his beautiful, sad eyes again. "Let's not fight it, okay?"

Her ability to be mischievous and mysterious, then vulnerable and sweet on a dime only served to pound another nail in his coffin. Right along with her bold declaration, followed by an impassioned plea.

Rick stared at her, momentarily speechless, transfixed.

He let it sink in, what she was saying. She was okay with how dark he was, she had heard the full truth behind his secret obsession with her, and she was still lying here in his arms. She accepted him. She wanted him. She needed him.

And he needed her, too. She was right. He didn't want to fight this.

"Alright." He agreed, understanding now that he was hopelessly, utterly, irrevocably devoted to her. If she wanted him to, he would kill for her.

Michonne watched something break open and bloom wide in Rick's hypnotizing blue eyes, and that's when she knew he was hers.

She'd been his from the moment he showed up to rescue her from the man in the mask.

Her smile spread wide. She couldn't help herself. He made her feel like she could be happy, maybe, for the first time in years.

"And when we wake up in the morning - " Michonne continued in a hushed whisper, kissing his pink lips and stroking his fuzzy chin with her nails as he rubbed her wrist and listened some more. "We'll take it as slow, or fast, as we want to." She smirked, licking hungrily at his plump bottom lip. "We've both got scarier shit to worry about, anyway. Fucking every chance we get is the healthiest thing we could do."

Rick chuckled, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he returned her feverish kisses, leaning into her.

"Yes ma'am," he drawled, liking this new side that he seemed to have fucked out of her. He leaned over her again, turning his body so he could kiss her while he pressed her into the throw pillow they shared.

She was going to bring him back. Feed his darkness and lead him to the light with both hands.

And he was gonna start coming around a lot more often.

* * *

Hey _guys! **First of all, thank you all so much for your amazing reviews!** I've been really inspired over the last couple of weeks. By you, and by some newfound surge of Richonne feels since the season finale. I plan to ride it out for a few chapters. **I HAVE SO. MUCH. PLANNED.** This is going to be a long, epic thriller that will only escalate with each installment. Everything happens for a reason, and I can tell you now that by the end of it, you won't recognize Richonne. In a very good way (I'm hoping, lol)._

 _I'm going to focus on Vantage Point for a short while. Then I will return to my beloved Bad Thangs, and my new love, The Scarlet Tide. More epic (crazy) plans for both. Plus some new Richonne stuff and thangs I have in the works! I'm also planning a sequel to Vantage Point! Muhuhuhaaa I'm insane._

 _Well, let me stop gushing like a schoolgirl and let you guys know what's coming up._

 _-Kendra_

 _P.S. I HAVE ALSO CHALLENGED MYSELF TO START UPDATING FASTER. WISH ME LUCK!_

 _ALSO! YOU CAN FIND ALL OF THE SONGS USED IN EACH CHAPTER IN MY SPOTIFY PLAYLIST! JUST SEARCH 'VANTAGE POINT'._

 _ **COMING SOON:**_

 _We meet The Master, and The Beast makes another appearance._

 _Carol makes an offer Rick can't refuse. (Spoiler alert: LOL he doesn't)_

 _We finally get a glimpse of what_ Negan _Wolfe has been up to._

 _Rick shows Michonne, in the most surprisingly touching way, just how devoted he is to her._

 _And the plot shifts into a new gear, picking up speed. Buckle up._


	11. the beast and his master

_**WARNING:**  
_

 ** _Violent content ahead that is potentially triggering._**

 ** _Rest assured, however: no content in this story will ever explicitly depict rape._**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

' _The Upside Down', Kyle Dixon_

* * *

 _It's just past three in the morning, and The Beast's heart is pounding out of his chest._

 _He's momentarily deafened by the sound of it crashing in his ears, drowning out all other noise. If there was any other noise out here, besides his heart futilely sounding the alarm about what he's done._

 _But there's no other sound._

 _It's January, and it's cold, so there aren't too many people roaming around out here in the sticks this time of night. There's no sound for miles past this seedy, hole in the wall establishment that's now about forty-five past 'last call'._

 _Not even that of this waitress's desperate, laborious breathing anymore._

 _There's just his heart thumping in his broad chest, that sickly feeling developing in his stomach. Another blow to his soul. Another step into permanent consciousness for his monster._

 _His anger receding, the red veil lifting from his vision, The Beast loosens his grip on her throat._

 _Finally, after all her panting and struggling and crying, he lets go._

 _She goes limp as he steps back. He mutely watches her body slide along the brick wall, then crumple over into the dirt near his boots. He stares down at her with dread. Anger. Both._

 _She had it comin'._

 _She shouldn't have been mouthin' off about him. She didn't know a goddamned thing about him, or where he'd come from, or what was slumbering inside him. Her mistake, goddamn it. Her mistake._

 _ **His**_ _mistake._

 _His erection is starting to make its retreat as well, as he realizes_ _ **exactly**_ _what he's done._

 _What it means if he's caught._

 _He's gotta think quick._

 _Beginning to panic, The Beast looks up and around swiftly, his red eyes gleaming from underneath his black baseball cap._

 _The parking lot around the corner is deserted. His eyes dart around the alley where he stands over her, looking for cameras. He finds just one, pointed away from him, above the door._

 _His heart still pounding, his razor sharp gaze lands now on the back door to the bar, just past the dumpster where he'd cornered her out here while she was emptying the trash after closing time._

 _No one around._

 _Maybe the camera caught her coming out here, but it won't catch her coming back in._

 _Maybe the owner hasn't come out looking for her 'cause he's preoccupied counting his take-in for the night. Probably downstairs in that basement office for the time being._

 _The Beast has maybe five minutes. Ten tops, before the owner comes wandering back upstairs and finds his waitress gone._

 _Licking his chapped lips, raking in huge, frigid breaths as pure adrenaline begins to pump through his bloodstream, The Beast's mind starts to formulate a flimsy, desperate plan._

 _He didn't want this. He actually thought she was kinda pretty. But she had to go flappin' her gums about shit she knew nothin' about and she unknowingly disturbed his monster._

" _Gotta stop doin' that." He mumbles to himself. He feels numb, like he's floating inside a black abyss, as his anger cools. And he goes to work._

 _He kneels down and grabs hold of her limp, rapidly chilling body. She'll be stiff as a board soon, he thinks as he hoists her up over his shoulder._

 _Better move fast._

 _There's a river stream a few miles south of here. It's hidden by a patch of forest, a mile or so off the back road near the highway. It's secluded, so folks can't wander up on it from the road unless they know where to look._

 _He can load her down with somethin' and dump her in there. She might wash up downstream somewhere in a few days or so. Maybe he'll get lucky and she'll empty out into the big river and not be found for weeks._

 _Maybe it ain't a brilliant solution, but it'll give him time to clear his head and cool it._

 _He scoffs as he sneaks through the shadows, past the camera, and down to the end of the alley where his truck is parked - an earlier incarnation of the monster from Amy Jones's nightmares, whom he won't meet for another four years._

 _Now, the tall, broad-shouldered young killer carries the waitress over his shoulder, her hair swinging back and forth soundlessly across his back. He keeps his eyes peeled upward to see if there are motion sensor lights; see if this owner was smart enough to spring for 'em._

 _There's one, but it's far away from the camera and he's protected by his trusty ball cap._

 _This is why he loves the sticks sometimes._

 _Back roads of Georgia give him plenty of hunting territory._

 _He can't come out here often, but when he does…_

 _ **You get your fool self in trouble, asshole,**_ _he growls to himself in his head as he stalks quickly to his destination and gets the back gate of the truck bed open._

 _He dumps the waitress, ignoring her still-open eyes giving him chills that have nothing to do with the cold. He needs to get the hell outta here._

 _He slams the top of the covered utility bed and then it's gate._

 _There is a reflection of a man standing behind him in the black exterior, watching him._

 _He's wearing an eye patch, and he's the scariest-looking man The Beast has ever seen._

 _His hand immediately moving for the gun strapped in its holster under his jacket, The Beast spins around._

" _Not so fast, cowboy." The man growls absurdly in a low, Southern twang. He waves something tersely back and forth by his hip._

 _His heart now pounding faster than ever, The Beast's eyes dart downward to see that the man is holding a gun with a silencer on it in his gloved hands. He's dressed all in black, and it takes a few seconds for The Beast to make out the weapon, but it's there, trained on his nuts._

 _He relaxes just a hair, removing his hand slowly from the inside of his jacket._

" _Yeah, who the hell are you?" He demands quietly. He feels anxious, and scared, and he's starting to get angry. He's gotta get the fuck out of here,_ _ **now**_ _. He's gonna have to take this guy out, somehow._

 _If he can._

 _He stares at the man, resisting it, but still feeling like he oughtta be afraid. Careful. Like any wrong move will wipe him off the face of the planet. Not just dead, but erased. Like he never existed._

 _The man seems impossibly tall, dark and shadowed against the nighttime backdrop of a deserted back road leading to nowhere. Beyond it, there are rows and rows of trees punctuating the dark. His breath is visible as he speaks, cold and phantom-like as it floats from his mouth on his every word and disappears._

 _The man lets The Beast stare at him, a small smirk turning up the lines in his stern mouth. The eye that isn't covered by a black patch does some examining of its own._

" _Don't worry, cowboy." He ignores the question to sneer at him, causing The Beast's anger to flare up again. "There's no tape for that camera anymore. And your sweet little waitress's manager?I took care of him, too. You're welcome."_

 _The Beast frowns, his heart still thumping, stunned. And feeling sort of ...pulled… by the sound of the man's lilting, Savannah-bred accent and deep, rumbling voice._

 _But it's the cold, calculating confidence radiating from his one visible eye that really pins The Beast where he stands. Tugging him in the wrong direction. Almost like it's the man's sheer will that does it._

 _His intellect catches up with him, and he has to ask, almost timidly: "Why'd you do that?" Regretting his hesitation, he thrusts his chin up at the man, maybe revealing a little too much of his face from underneath his cap. "Who the fuck_ _ **are**_ _you, man?"_

 _The man grins now, looking about as evil as anything in The Beast's childhood nightmares. Like the Devil himself. Or the Man from that Johnny Cash song._

" _I'm your new best friend, cowboy."_

" _ **Stop callin' me that.**_ " _The Beast growls, the red veil blinking across his vision again. He doesn't like being patronized. And he ain't nobody's boy. But the man doesn't even flinch. It's like he knows that right now, in a panic for getting caught doing bad things, his bark is worse than his bite. "What do you want? Why shouldn't I break your goddamn face?"_

" _Oooh. So ferocious." The man's grin only spreads as he gestures with his silenced weapon, letting it swirl a trail in the air along the length of the Beast's tall body. "That's good. I'm gonna need that."_

 _The Beast takes a step forward, lowering his cap to hood his eyes again and clenching his jaw. The red veil falls slowly - he's about to kill this motherfucker. He's already put a crack in his soul once tonight._

 _One more ain't gonna matter much._

 _The man tilts his head at him as the seconds tick by. He doesn't look afraid or threatened at all. Instead, he looks merely curious. And a little disappointed._

" _But you're messy. Easily provoked. That's why the girl in your truck is dead tonight, isn't it? Mmm, and she could've lasted so much longer." It is the man's turn to growl, but it's not just the bass in his voice that momentarily stuns The Beast's momentum. "Look at you, about to get killed, or caught, just because my little pet naaaame got under your skin, cowboy." The Beast lets his almost sing-song words sink in as the tall, dark man with the eye patch shakes his head and makes a low, 'tsk-tsk' noise with his mouth. "So much potential. Wasted."_

" _Potential for what?" The Beast can't help asking, feeling confused, feeling panicked by the inexplicable sensation that he is being slowly, yet surely reeled into a trap. A trap that he might never escape from. "Hey, man, this was just an accident. S-she's my girlfriend, a-and we were fightin'..."_

" _ **Save it, boy.**_ " _The man barks._

 _He gestures with the gun again when The Beast clamps his mouth shut, taking another step forward. He's angry again just that quickly - for falling for it, for doing anything other than lunging at this prick and rippin' his goddamn throat out._

 _But he's...compelled. Desperate. Alone. This guy looks like he can see all that, and more. So much more._

" _Get in the truck. Let's go for a ride." The dark man takes unabashed steps toward the brooding murderer that had been seconds away from attacking him._

 _The Beast stands back, his breath misting in the frigid night air. All he can will himself to do is watch from under the rim of his cap as the man folds his tall body into the passenger seat of his truck. He shuts the door behind him, and that is that._

 _The cold, dead silence surrounds him again as he tries to decide what to do._

 _But he already knows what he's gonna do._

 _His jaw clenched, his world closing in on him, he stalks around to the driver's side and gets in._

" _I wanna show you my little collection. The girl's invited, of course. Though I doubt she'll get as much out of it as you will."_

 _The tall man with the eyepatch smiles over at the shadows dancing across The Beast's face as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads down the dark, dusty road._

 _In the truck bed, the dead waitress stares up at nothing._

* * *

 _The sun pounds relentlessly through the windshield of Lori Grimes' gray Hyundai Tucson as she cruises slowly along the rocky, earthy drive._

 _She is surrounded by trees and both her sun visors are down, but somehow the sun finds her._

 _It follows her in harsh, flickering beams as her midsized SUV inches closer and closer to Shane's secluded cabin._

 _She looks around, driving at practically a snail's pace. She's checking to make sure she doesn't spot his truck anywhere around, or see him returning from hunting in the woods that surround the cabin._

 _Dread also follows her, like the glaring sun, because she does not want to see him._

 _Not today. Not tomorrow. Not for a little while._

 _She just wants to get the rifle, leave a note, and take Carl to this pool party. Then get her ass home to wait for her husband so he can get rid of those damn raccoons._

 _Or have a couple of glasses of wine and take 'em out herself._

 _She's still mad at Rick; at him and Shane both. But she's also still confused, and she doesn't think she has it in her to fight against that puppy dog look in Shane's eyes right now. Especially not with her son in tow._

 _He's damned near impossible to resist when he's sorry. Somethin' that always seems to get her in trouble._

 _Lori looks up at her fourteen-year-old through the rearview mirror as she reaches the mouth of the road she's on, where the cabin is finally revealed._

 _Carl is in the back seat, listening to music through his Apple earbuds. He is refusing to look at her, instead watching the trees float past his window. Just like he refused to ride up front with her. He's already dressed for the pool party, annoyed that they're making this 'pit stop'._

 _He'd normally be excited to hang with Shane, but not today. He has a crush on the girl who's hosting the party and he doesn't want to be late._

 _But he's also mad at his mother for not speaking to his dad this last week, Lori knows as she takes her eyes off of him to put the car in park and get this done. He doesn't understand._

 _Normally, she wouldn't bring her child with her - but she's a coward and she needs the pool party as an excuse to escape in case she runs into Shane._

 _Normally, in fact, Carl's dad would be here and they'd all see Shane together._

 _Bot not today._

 _Today Rick is working and Shane has the day off._

 _Everyone's been so stressed about this god-awful case that Sheriff Ross has ordered every man to take a turn on a twenty-four hour leave to see their families and get some proper sleep._

 _Rick had his last week, and they'd ended up fighting at the end of it._

 _Lori doesn't know what Shane planned to do with his today, but she hopes he hasn't decided to take it out here in his daddy's old cabin._

 _She knows that's a flimsy hope to have, since Shane loves being out here in the woods._

 _So she has to settle for just hopin' she'd miss him. That she could sneak in and out, borrow the rifle, and not have to deal with his intense infatuation with her. His irrational jealousy. His childish reasoning._

 _God help her, he's so hard to resist when she's feelin' lonely and especially bitter about her never ending melodramas with her husband._

 _But Lori always realizes too late, when she emerges from her haze of lust-fueled self-destruction, that giving in to Shane never works._

 _He always ends up disappointing her. And she always ends up turning around in circles again with her righteous, responsible, good-hearted husband. A husband she fell in love with what feels like ages ago now. A husband she struggles to stay in love with._

 _There's no sign of Shane as Lori cuts the engine and takes her keys out of the ignition. She doesn't see his pickup anywhere, either._

 _She turns to the back seat, where Carl still hasn't taken his earbuds out or paused his music._

 _She knows that he probably overheard her argument with his father. She's gonna need to talk to him about it. But not right now._

 _Lori sighs hard and snaps her fingers in her son's face._

 _Carl narrows his eyes through his window, but eventually turns to reveal his face from behind his thick head of longish dark hair. He needs a haircut. Of course, he'd rather die than have one. The girls in his school seem to like this mop head look._

 _Finally, he pauses his music and blinks at her, still silent._

" _I'll be in and out, okay?" Lori tells him, trying to be patient. It's not his fault she dragged him all the way out here just so she wouldn't have to face Shane alone. "The party can wait for just a little bit longer, Carl." She gets firm with him, shaking off her guilt. "So can that girl, Enid."_

" _ **Okay**_ _, mom. Can we just get what we came for and get outta here?" Carl's cheeks turn red and he rolls his eyes moodily, reaching down to turn his music back on._

 _She forgives him his attitude, for now. "You'll be thankin' me later when you don't have to clean up the trash those raccoons'll be rippin' open all summer."_

" _Sure. Thanks." And that's all she gets out of him. He turns his music back on, walling himself off from her once again._

 _Lori doesn't want to risk Shane arriving while she's sitting here fighting with her teenaged son, so she gets out of the car._

 _Running a hand through her long, dark brown hair, she tucks her keys into the pockets of her tight jeans and walks quickly up to the cabin. She bypasses the front porch, instead going around back to start her way down the short slope that leads from Shane's back patio to the shed that houses his collection of hunting rifles._

 _She's been nagging Rick for weeks to come out here and borrow one so they can get ahead of the raccoon problem before the summer fully kicks in, but of course...that damned case. He never found the time. He has more important things to do, indefinitely. It's 'on his list'._

 _His list is a mile long._

 _And there are now eight missing girls on it, and who knows how many more will turn up if they can't make a breakthrough soon._

 _Lori lets herself relax when she still hasn't seen any sign of Shane._

 _She ambles down the small hill, feeling herself start to sweat under the relentless sun._

 _She's looking forward to spending some time by the pool today, herself. Maybe she can win Carl over again, once he finally gets to see Enid and splash around for a bit. Have fun with him, together just the two of them and their friends. Though they're all used to it by now, the heat makes everyone crankier when summer rolls around._

 _And lonelier. And hornier. And more unpredictable._

 _Lori shakes these gloomy thoughts away as she finally makes it to the hollow where the shed sits. There's shade here, relieving her of some of the heat. It just feels...colder in this area. Kinda creepy. She's only been down to the shed once, and never since. Usually, the patio is about as far as she goes._

 _She doesn't want to think about how many times she's been out to this cabin, without her husband._

 _Fighting off oncoming tears (she's been crying on and off for two weeks - and her period is a day late, but she doesn't want to think about that either), Lori makes it to the double wooden doors. The shed is more like a barn, in her opinion, because she has to stand up on a rock and lift herself up on her tiptoes to reach the top of the long, wooden door._

 _She stays stuck in that position for a tense moment, stretching to her full height as she feels around the top of the musty, splintery doorframe. Finally, she finds the carved out notch. She pulls it out, and roots around until she finds the key hidden inside._

 _Lori lowers herself down flat on her sturdy brown boots again with relief, key in hand._

 _She grasps hold of the big, heavy chain lock that keeps intruders and thieves out (well, she's neither of those since she's just borrwin') and gets the key in. It clicks, and she pulls the lock off with a huff, setting it on a rock near her boot._

 _The sun attacks the ceiling of trees surrounding her as she pulls open the musty door._

 _She's greeted with darkness and a stale, mildewy smell that makes her heart thump in her thin chest._

 _Lori shakes off her nerves, conscious of the time, feeling the distance between herself down this hill and her son waiting in the car._

 _She just hopes Shane is sleeping in at his house in town, not on his way out here or already out traipsing around in the woods._

 _Blowing her hair out of her face, sweat collecting along her hairline, she walks into the shed._

 _There's an overhead bulb just above her, tethered to a long, rusty chain. She pulls it and the dim light flickers on. It swings weakly above her._

 _Lori gasps when she realizes she's standing in front of a huge, jet black utility truck._

 _She stares at it for a moment, stunned._

 _The gun rack is on her right, near a set of tool chests and other bits and bobs Shane keeps in here. But Lori is distracted by the truck._

 _She's never seen it before. 'When did Shane buy this thing…?' she thinks, confused._

 _Why would he buy this scary-looking behemoth? He has a good-sized pickup truck that isn't even three years old. It doesn't make sense...except maybe it could be a sign of some sort of ego problem._

 _Shane definitely also has one of those._

 _She doesn't like it. She walks slowly around it, folding her arms around her, forgetting about Carl for a moment._

 _It's large, and cold, and kind of sinister. There's something about it that feels almost...alive. Like it's watching her. It's a ridiculous thought, but she can't shake it. The windows are tinted, but there's a fade out in the windshield that allows for the driver to be visible._

 _That's odd._

 _The plates are odd, too. The truck looks brand new, but the plates look...worn. Banged up a bit, if she has to put a label on it. Lori stares at the plates, standing stock still in the shed, the quiet noises of the forest surrounding her._

 _There is something else about those plates…_

 _A cold breeze comes from out of nowhere, chilling her to the bone._

 _Lori doesn't want to look at the truck anymore. She doesn't understand where Shane's head is at sometimes. Lori shakes herself out of her fixation and turns to yank the plain canvas tarp off of the gun rack._

 _Back in high school, when he was a running back and still just as hunky, they used to call him The Beast for how he 'chewed the grass'. She also thought it had a lot to do with the fact that he was the biggest whore on the team._

 _Maybe he finally bought a truck that reflected that stupid nickname. She wonders why he hadn't brought it by to show Carl and Rick. But then, everything is still so awkward between them all with the drama of this case and Rick and Lori's domestic problems._

" _Just get what you came for, Lori…"_

 _Lori eyes the impressive collection of rifles until she finds the one she's looking for - the smallest, quietest one. This collection (and maybe now, the truck) was always the most well-kept thing in here. Regularly cleaned and oiled and dusted and probably read a bedtime story at night. Shane loves his guns._

 _And his best friend._

 _Feeling the guilt engulf her again like the sweltering heat waiting for her outside, Lori carefully lifts the rifle from its position in the rack._

 _She looks around until she spots the tool chests on her left and figures there will be bullets inside._

 _Lori opens the drawers one by one, until she spots a couple of stacks of boxes of bullets for the different kinds of rifles on the rack. She pushes them aside to find the ones she needs - and spots something else._

 _Something out of place. Something that spurs instant rage inside her, burning deep in her gut. Lori pulls out the balled up underwear with a shaking hand, her eyes narrowing to slits._

" _That son of a bitch…" she whispers to the afternoon gloom._

 _He's been fucking some girl this whole time, is all she can think for a few agonizing seconds. Her mind reels, and she wonders what she should do. How much she should really care. She_ _ **does**_ _care, she knows._

 _And then she looks at them. Really looks at them._

 _They look familiar. Not like hers - they are most certainly not the type of cheap, slinky thing she'd put on. But familiar in a way that makes the floor feel like it's made of quicksand. She unfolds them and realizes that there is a chunk of them missing. Like it was cut out. A hole in the shape of a rudimentary heart._

 _Snip, rip, snip._

 _Lori's heart thump, thump, thumps in her chest with real, sickening dread. She remembers this because Rick has been agonizing over the case of Rosita Espinosa and the other missing girls for months._

 _Near the three bodies they've found, they also found underwear fragments. Little, cut out hearts._

' _Why are these here…?' the thought knocks around in her head as her sweat turns ice cold._

 _As Lori looks around, bewildered, confused, trying to think rationally, she spots something else._

 _It's a bright orange parka. Something camp counselors wear._

 _It's stuffed in a trash bag at her feet by the tool chests._

 _It's glaring up at her. It's a bright orange parka._

 _Rosita Espinosa was a camp counselor. She was wearing a bright orange parka - smiling, surrounded by toothless kids - in one of the photos Lori had seen in the case files Rick pored over night after night._

 _A bright orange parka the police never found._

 _Not in all their searching of these woods and the surrounding areas for miles._

 _And yet it's here. In Shane's shed. Along with underwear Lori is beginning to understand also belonged to Rosita - just as surely as she knows that she needs to get the hell out of here._

 _Right now._

 _Seized with panic and overwhelming adrenaline, Lori turns so sharply that she bumps into the tool chests, making a racket that scares the shit out of her. She drops the box, spilling bullets everywhere._

 _Blindly, her cheeks red and fear climbing into her throat, she stuffs the panties back into the chest drawer and slams it shut. Then she skids over rolling bullets as she makes a dash for it, leaving them behind in her haste to be away from here immediately._

 _Rick._

 _She needs to see Rick. She's desperate to see her husband._

 _He won't believe it, but he will know what to do._

 _Lori's hands are shaking as she slings the rifle over her shoulder by its strap and hauls the heavy, rickety shed door shut again. She realizes too late that she's forgotten to turn off the lightbulb, but fear is so prevalent in her mind that she doesn't care._

 _The truth of what she's just discovered hammers through her, the puzzle pieces all slamming into place with brutal realism. The trees spin around her. The tall, slender housewife hastily gets the big lock back onto the chain but drops the key._

 _Lori bolts, leaving everything ashambles, now desperate to flee back to her car._

 _She's already pulling her cell phone out of her back jeans pocket as she turns and starts power walking back up the little hill._

 _She runs smack into a wall of sweaty brawn smelling of beer, trees, musk, and the stink something dead. Probably a deer or a fox._

 _Startled out of her wits, Lori yells and starts pounding Shane's chest._

" _Whoa, whoa -_ _ **whoa, woman!**_ " _He grabs her by the wrists, easily forcing her back from him, his muscles flexing. "It's just me! Damn, this case got you spooked like everyone else in town."_

 _Lori shakes, staring up at him, trapped._

 _He gazes down at her, looking terrifyingly sinister under the glare of the sun for a moment, his black ball cap shading his dark eyes. Then he rolls his eyes and lowers them almost sheepishly, letting her go._

" _What the hell are you doin' out here, Lori?" He asks quietly, stepping back. "And what the fuck are you doin' with one of my rifles? What, you come out here to gimme a piece o'your mind about what I said the other night?"_

 _Lori flinches at the mention of his declaration that he intends to tell Rick about their affair._

 _At that same moment, she realizes that he hasn't caught on to her. She can still get away, if she plays this right._

 _Fighting down a sudden swell of nausea as she stares at him, Lori tries - with difficulty - to get her trembling under control._

 _She manages to look him in the eye, despite being repulsed by him. He is no longer the same man she...she slept with…more than once...for months...while poor Rick was drivin' himself crazy over this case._

 _She feels sick._

" _I..I w-was just...borrowin' the rifle for the raccoons, remember?" She manages, her eyes flickering to the patio in the distance, and her car beyond it. "I was gonna leave you a note."_

 _She starts to inch her way around him, dropping her eyes, but he steps closer._

" _A note, huh? Really - a fuckin note?" Lori's panic rises to claw at her stomach at the sound of the anger in his voice. "What, you ain't got nothin' to say to me no more? After all we've been through?" Shane leans over her, his sweaty hair falling in his eyes, making her feel small. "You think Rick ain't gonna notice that? After us bein' so close? Huh, baby…?"_

 _He is attempting to be charming. Attempting to use his usually attractive swagger to back her down. Get her to soften. To forgive him. To fuck him 'one last time' and another 'last time'. And a 'last time' after that._

 _Lori is sick to her stomach, cramps seizing her abdomen, tears stinging her eyes. She needs to get away from him before she panics and attacks him._

 _But she can't beat him in a fight. Maybe, her keys...if she can wound him enough to stun him…_

" _No, Shane, we don't have anythin' to say to each other. And how_ _ **dare**_ _you use Rick against me." She pulls her keys out of her pocket and courage up from her bowels to look into his dark eyes again. He looks like a lost puppy. It disgusts her. "I gotta go. Carl's waiting."_

" _You brought Carl?" He huffs, stepping still closer, looking agitated. He's been in the woods hunting, and drinking. Brooding. Getting his head all foggy with frustration. "You didn't wanna see me alone? Is that it, Lori?" Then he pauses, eyeing her salaciously. "You can't resist me, can you? You_ _ **know**_ _this thing ain't over."_

 _God, she should have seen this coming. Lori grips her keys in her hand, a jagged edge poking outward._

 _She can make a run for it. She will._

" _You're wrong, Shane." She grits. "It's_ _ **over.**_ _And_ _ **I'm**_ _gonna tell Rick. Not you. Now, I gotta go. Carl's friends are expectin' us at a pool party…"_

 _But he isn't listening._

" _Gimme just one more chance, Lori, please?" Shane is on top of her, now, kissing and groping her, trying to force her to return his affection. Lori twists around in his arms and jerks her hand up, scratching him hard across the neck._

" _Get off me!"_

 _He steps back, stunned, and she takes off._

" _Don't follow me! Just stay away from me, Shane!"_

" _Lori! WAIT! Don't do this…! PLEASE!"_

 _She runs for her car, her hair swinging, the rifle bumping painfully against her back._

 _Shane watches her go._

 _The red veil falls across his vision, and he contemplates going after her. But he can't if Carl is with her._

 _And then he thinks, his neck stinging._

 _He turns around, glaring down the hill towards his shed._

 _Feeling The Beast licking at his heels, Shane makes his way down the slope and gradually sees that the lock is hanging off the chain haphazardly. The key is in the dirt. She hadn't bothered replacing it._

 _Cold fury and prickly suspicion begin to rush through him as he stalks the rest of the way to the shed and knocks the lock off the chain. He throws the big, long door back, almost breaking it._

 _He sees his truck, which Lori didn't mention in her haste to get away from him._

 _But if she's been in here, she's seen it._

 _The fury persists. The suspicion swells. He sees the box and the bullets all over the floor._

 _She borrowed a rifle, but she left those. Now, why would she go and do somethin' like that…?_

 _The tool chests are off-kilter on their wheels._

 _Rosita's underwear are sticking out of one of the drawers._

 _And her parka is hanging out of the trash bag. On his hunt, he'd made up his mind to finally get rid of it, now that the heat is off from the search._

 _But Lori has seen it._

 _The Master was right. He'd been right all along. Shane let his dick do the thinkin' with Lori and now he's in trouble._ _ **Real**_ _trouble._

 _Damn. Damnnn. DAMN._

 _The red veil pulses behind his eyes. The Beast takes over, silencing Shane before he can even have a second thought. He stalks over to his truck and opens her up in the back, ducking in to grab his special rifle. The one he uses for occasions just like this._

 _With no thought but the preservation of his monster, his Master, and himself, he climbs into his truck._

 _The engine rumbles to life, awakening the monster. It's time to hunt._

 _Lori makes it to her car, trembling, heart quaking with adrenaline, and practically dives inside._

 _She dumps the rifle, startling Carl. He pulls his earphones out and sits up straight as he watches his mother hastily start the engine and begin to back out._

 _She looks nervous. Startled. Downright spooked._

" _Mom...what's up…? Are you crying?" He asks, alarmed, forgetting his silent treatment of her. Her son eyes his mother cautiously, wondering where Shane is, as she turns the SUV around and guns it down the earthy drive. "What_ _ **happened**_ _?"_

" _Nothin' baby, it's just...w-w'ere late and I'm sorry, okay?" She is crying while she drives, but she wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm real sorry Carl, for everything." Lori blows her nerves out through her pursed lips, still shaking. "I'm-I'm gonna just drop you off at the party, okay? I gotta do somethin' real quick. But_ _ **you keep your phone on you**_ _, you hear me?"_

 _Carl is immediately disappointed as they fly through the back roads of King County, surrounded by trees for at least a mile further. Despite his annoyance with her attitude toward his dad, he'd been looking forward to spending time with her doing something fun._

 _Now she looks shaken up. And it's probably because of his 'uncle' Shane._

 _Carl glowers. "What do you need to do all of a sudden, mom?" He demands, now becoming slightly wary about the way she's driving._

 _Then she does something that makes him really nervous, causing him to forget his disappointment. His dad hates it when she does this, too. She takes out her cell phone and starts to dial._

" _Uh, I need to see your dad for a little while. No back talk. Mama's gotta concentrate."_

 _Lori's head starts to clear the further she gets from the cabin, and Shane._

 _The thought of him still turning her stomach, she searches for the intersection that will lead her to the highway._

 _If Shane figures out what she's found, it will be over for him in the blink of an eye. And he's gonna, real soon._

 _She needs to see Rick first, and break the news to him before things turn ugly._

 _She dials, just as she finally reaches the intersection. She almost feels relief as she listens to Rick's phone ring. She's almost to safety. She'll take Carl where he can be safe, in public surrounded by witnesses and other adults. Then she'll go talk to Rick._

 _If he would just pick up the goddamned phone._

 _Of course, it goes to voicemail. Lori sighs, feeling the panic beginning to well up inside her again._

" _This is Deputy Rick Grimes. I am otherwise occupied, so leave a brief message. I'll get back." His gentle twang sounds into her ear. Then the beep._

 _Lori tries to keep the panic out of her voice. She needs to get Rick alone, so they can think of what to do together. Something she should have been doing with him in the first place._

 _Feeling on the verge of tears, Lori impatiently waits for the light to change as she leaves her husband a voicemail._

" _Hey, Rick. Look, I know you're working, but I've got somethin' to tell you. And I need us to talk in person, okay?" She takes another deep breath, focusing on the wedding ring on her hand that rests on the steering wheel. She wants to cry but her child is watching her. She can't begin to think how to explain all this to Carl. "As soon as possible. Can you do that for me? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really,_ _ **really**_ _important. It-it's gonna sound crazy but you have to listen to me."_

 _She bites her lip, hoping her husband will listen and believe her. Just this once, not deviate from his rigid, honest, honorable self like she's been naggin' him to since before this case began. Just this once let him trust her like he used to._

 _Just this once - let him see his best friend for who he truly is._

" _I'm gonna drop Carl off and come up there. Please, Rick…"_

" _Mom!" Carl grumbles from the back seat. "The light's changed."_

" _Shit." Lori hangs up just as a loud car horn sounds behind them._

 _She is about to get her Tuscon going again, when she looks up at the rear view mirror and sees it._

 _The scary black monster truck from the shed. Barreling down on her._

 _And, unmistakably, Shane's enraged face. His eyes hooded by his black ball cap through the clear fade in the tinted windshield glass._

" _CARL, GET DOWN AND_ _ **STAY DOWN**_ _, NOW!"_

 _Carl is momentarily confused, but he does as his mother says, unbuckling his seatbelt to slide down out of view. Lori shoves her foot down on the gas. Her phone slides from her lap and lands haphazardly at her feet as she swerves away, narrowly escaping being rammed into by Shane's -_ _ **The Beast's**_ _\- behemoth._

 _But the chase is short lived._

 _Lori's mind is rent in three directions as she tries to fish for her phone to call Rick (or 911, or both), steer and maintain her speed, and make sure her son stays out of sight._

 _She takes her eyes off of the road for a second, thinking she's found her phone, as the truck keeps coming, keeping up with her Soccer Mom Approved Hyundai easily._

 _She swerves, diving off the road, slamming into a tree._

 _Before she can recover, gunshots._

 _The Beast has climbed out of his truck. He's walking in the middle of the street toward the SUV._

 _She sees him, her world closing in on her, his eyes shaded by that cap. Coming for them._

 _And the dings and flashes of bullets ring out all around her as she sits trapped in her SUV. Glass shatters, Carl cries her name, and things end for them on that road._

 _When it's over, the red veil lifts._

 _Shane stares at what he's done. Again, again,_ _ **again**_ _he's lost his mind - and this time it's_ _ **Lori**_ _._

 _And...he sees the boy in the back seat. His eye blown out. Dead or dying._

 _It's Carl._

 _She hadn't been lying. He had hoped she was lying._

 _They lay there, glaring up at him. The dead bodies of his best friend's child and wife. The woman he loves and the son he'll never see again. Shane stumbles back to his truck, losing the feeling in his legs. He feels his breakfast rising to his throat with ferocious force, and a few seconds later he's vomiting his guts out in the truck bed._

 _He begins to sob, kicking the truck grate with an explosion of fury and anguish._

 _He had to._ _ **He had to**_ _. She was gonna tell Rick. She was gonna tell everyone._

 _ **Why'd she bring Carl?**_

 _Shane punches himself in the head repeatedly through his cap, tears flooding his eyes. He needs to get it together._

 _Calming down, gradually shifting to cold stillness, The Beast rises again, and takes a look around._

 _It's almost the afternoon, but there's nary a soul in sight._

 _The sticks. Gotta love 'em._

 _He pulls out his cell phone, the special one The Master gave him, and dials the special number._

 _The Master picks up on the third ring, like always. "This had better be worth my time."_

" _I did somethin' bad."_

* * *

 ** _1\. Everything happens for a reason._**

 ** _2\. The next two chapters will be here sooner than you think. :)_**

 ** _3\. Moving forward, we'll do one "flashback" chapter alone, followed by two "present day" chapters._**

 ** _4\. Again, thank you all so much for your reviews and messages of encouragement. I'm in writer's heaven right now, tbh._**

 _ **-Kendra**_


	12. the boy

**This one is quite long.**

 **But, if I don't mind saying, quite juicy, with a twist. And necessary.**

 **More Richonne goodness ahead...enjoy!**

* * *

 _it might be impractical to seek out a new romance_

 _we won't know the actual if we never take the chance..._

 _a heart doesn't play by rules and love has it's own demands_

 _but I'll be there to take care of you if you ever should decide..._

 _any time will do, my love_

 _...no choice of words will break me from this groove_

 _any time will do, my love_

 _...what choice of words will take me back to you?_

 _-'Will Do (Switch Remix)', TV On The Radio_

* * *

Once again, Rick found himself waking to the sun shining in his eyes.

And once again, he was in Michonne's bed.

She was lying next to him, cradled into his side.

She was warm, and soft, and peaceful. Breathing deeply, her eyes closed. Rick slowly pulled her closer, the thick fog of slumber clearing from his mind as he stared down at her.

Michonne. He never thought he'd _ever_ have her this close to him. He wasn't imagining it.

His eyes heavily lidded, his breathing growing shallow and his cock twitching to life, Rick watched Michonne sleep. He didn't want to disturb her, for now.

He found that he enjoyed watching her even more up close like this. Her _asking_ him to be this close made it all the more surreal, and flooring. All those times he'd stood alone at his favorite window, surrounded by darkness, watching her walk around in her own solitude. They were like two lonely islands, his and Michonne's houses. For the longest time he didn't think he'd ever be able to cross the ocean of baggage he was carrying to get to her.

But he was here, and she was beside him. Comforted by him. Not afraid of him. His thumb stroked the smooth skin of her shoulder and he lay back, watching the sun dance across her face.

 _Damn_ , she was beautiful. He was gonna fall in love with her.

If he hadn't already.

Rick normally felt the need to help people, protect them if he could. It was part of his job, but it was also part of who he was. He'd been raised that way. His father was that way and Carl had been turning out to be that way, too, Rick thought. Lori always hoped.

He leaned closer to Michonne, reaching up with his free hand to ghost his fingers across her lips, her cheek, her neck. He removed a loc of her hair to watch her heart flutter. He let his fingers trail along the valley between her breasts, her stomach, her thighs...spellbound by the way she felt underneath his touch.

With Michonne, though, it was different.

He didn't just want to protect her because of some obligatory, honorable family gene. No more than his rescuing stolen girls was motivated purely by a noble cause, bereft of the ever present desire to fix what broke him in the first place.

He wanted to be there for Michonne in ways that he hadn't wanted since he was working up the courage to propose to Lori. Michonne and Andre made Rick think about making someone happy. About family.

About trying to piece himself back together again.

These thoughts bewildered him as he watched Michonne snuggle into him and sigh against his chest.

He hadn't just been obsessed with her this whole time, Rick realized as he fought the urge to lean in and kiss her tenderly until she woke. He _had_ been falling in love with her.

He let his fingers trail back upward so he could stroke her lips again with his thumb.

She made him ache with need. It wasn't just the need to make love to her. God, he wanted that too, but more than just that. He wanted to make sure _she_ never wanted for anything - he wanted to be someone to rely on, someone to trust, someone to make her feel sexy and desired, someone who would move mountains for her if he could.

Someone who would kill for her.

He was willing to do that, knowing what they were up against. Rick felt it find a home and cement itself in the part of him that _knew_ how dangerous men like Negan Wolfe could be.

He had no doubt Michonne knew it, too. From experience.

She was strong - a smile on her face in front of her child, holding her own against her sister, allowing herself to be walled in by the F.B.I. Trapped, once again.

After five years of thinking she'd escaped. That she could finally be free.

Rick wanted to help Michonne take that freedom back. For good. He had to.

He leaned in closer, inhaling her scent, feeling himself harden still more. He wanted to kiss her, turn her over, slide himself hard and hot inside her. Show her the truth in his eyes. Make her feel even a fraction of how he felt, even just physically.

But as he thought about it, gazing at her shapely lips, a hair's breath from a kiss...he decided there was another way he could show her.

Like he used to try to with Lori. Once upon a time.

Make her see him in a different light. Not a stalker. Just a man who cared about her.

He could earn this.

But first, he _would_ take a kiss. Just one.

Rick finally leaned in and captured her lips with his, feeling his cock jerk awake as he did so. _Mmm, maybe a few_...he sought the sensation of her lovely mouth attaching and peeling away from his a few more times, turning his body to hold her closer. His nostrils flaring with a sharp exhalation, Rick found his grip tightening on her, his hand sliding of its own will down the exquisitely arched valley of her backside to take hold of her ass and squeeze.

Michonne woke up, instantly kissing him back.

A groggy moan escaped her lips against his, enticing him to take a deeper kiss. Slowly, Rick slipped his tongue inside to find hers. He couldn't help himself. He just wanted a little more of her…

"Mmm...goommornng…" She tried to speak against his kisses before giving in and allowing her tongue to dance with his.

"Mornin'." He drawled huskily, finally letting her tongue go. He pressed her down with his chest against her breasts, using one arm to anchor himself so the other hand could slide across her supple skin some more. She ran her fingers through his thick hair until she found his curls, wrapping her arms around him to pull him closer.

"Rick…" she breathed, her kisses soft and sweet.

He was starting to love the way she said his name when she needed him. He loved the way she said it when she was screaming it in ecstasy, too. He wanted to hear that again. Hear her talkin' dirty to him the way she had last night. He'd never heard anything like it from a lover. He hadn't expected it, but the memory of it was still emblazoned in his mind, as vivid as ever.

Rick had to stop before he spread her legs and found her wet. Then he'd be completely lost.

He would want to keep her here in this bed and fuck her all morning. All day. All night. As long as she could take it. She had given him permission. She said it was the healthiest thing. And it was the easiest way to show her. Months of pent up lust coursed through him.

But he didn't want her only impression of him to be as the creepy lech next door, despite her enthusiasm.

With a long, deep sigh and a slow last kiss, Rick reluctantly pulled back.

"Sorry." He muttered, his jaw clenching as he gazed down at her. His pretty eyes had darkened to a mesmerizing, deep blue.

She offered him a soft smile, shaking her head at his shyness - even while he was dragging her from her sleep to make out with her. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, cowboy."

He frowned, stealing another kiss. "Why do you call me that?"

Michonne shrugged, playing with his thick curls. Feeling warm and safe again underneath his strong, sturdy body. Held in the orbit of his prismatic eyes. "Because you're sweet, but tough. You don't talk much, but your eyes say everything...like this cowboy in a book I read when I was a kid." A wistful expression crossed her face. "Like James Dean in ' _Giant'_."

Rick smiled, thinking of a teenaged Michonne having a crush on James Dean.

"You have a thing for cowboys?" He asked, somewhat surprised (and removing the attention from himself to focus it on her again, where he liked it).

Michonne rolled her eyes at him but couldn't help laughing. "Maybe...shut up. "

Rick simply grinned down at her. He loved to see her smile. He wanted to make her smile a lot more.

"Yes ma'am." He couldn't resist leaning in for another kiss, or two, before moving to leave the bed. "I'll make some coffee. Maybe some breakfast, too. Cowboy style. You stay put."

Michonne simply watched as Rick stood up and fished around for his snug black jeans, charmed by him. Crushing on him shamelessly. She admired the cut of his tight little ass, the dimple she could see flexing in his left cheek as he slid one leg in after the other. Then he tucked himself in and zipped up, turning around so she could get a look at his abs and handsome chest.

He gave her that slow, crooked grin again, the sun shining through her windows making his eyes gleam and the silver hairs in his day-old fuzz look gorgeous. Then that cute-ass Georgia drawl again:

"Come down when your stomach starts growlin'."

 _God_ , all he was missing was a Stetson, a hip holster, and a toothpick.

She bit her lip, wanting to pull him back into bed, rip his jeans off, and milk his cock until he came hot and heavy in her mouth. But he was trying to pamper her, and she wasn't about to refuse. So instead she just nodded, snuggling into her covers. "Okay…"

Rick took a lingering glance at the gorgeous woman in bed before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

* * *

Hoping he could also relieve himself of some of his lingering arousal, Rick sauntered over to the bathroom to relieve himself of some of the beer he had last night.

On his way, he noticed that the door to what he believed was Andre's bedroom was closed. Michonne had mentioned that Sasha was taking it while she stayed there.

This must've meant she'd come back. He wasn't surprised. She seemed to like him okay, but that didn't mean she was going to go off and leave her best friend with a stranger _all_ night. Not at a time like this.

He thought he might like Sasha, too. She was loyal. And funny. He had a feeling she was there to help Michonne deal with Sabine as much as to support her through the danger.

While he was in the bathroom (his gaze cataloging Michonne's minimal tastes and personal belongings - she was low on tampons, he noticed) Rick's mind wandered to 'the danger' and stayed there.

He started thinking of Negan. For years he was at the top of the food chain as far as international, invincible arms dealers. He had his hands in everything; his crooked money knew no bounds. It had taken the F.B.I. months to trace the trail of things he'd bought, sold, stole, traded, collected. Including people. And Rick knew they probably couldn't trace all of it. He was too smart. He'd been at this since he was a teenager, practically.

So what did that mean for Michonne?

In Rick's mind, it didn't stand up to reason that he'd rely on one, lone thug to intimidate her.

Not if he was as angry as Rick suspected he was about being betrayed by Michonne.

If you took Rick's rapidly developing feelings for Michonne and multiplied them by a hundred, that'd be how furious a man like Negan Wolfe would be at his escaped lover for betraying him. And if he knew anything about Andre, you could triple that anger, too, probably.

All of this pointed to one conclusion for Rick. Negan wasn't finished yet. A woman like Michonne, someone Wolfe had trusted with his life for years, was more than just a concubine. She was his right hand. And she was also a loose end.

If she had any secrets the F.B.I. never got wind of...if she had something on him that would cause him to hunt for her and send her a message from solitary confinement...it could end up getting her killed.

That guy the other night was a warning, Carol wasn't just guessing.

Rick emerged from the bathroom, his eyes roaming, his mind buzzing.

He stalked silently down the stairs in nothing but his jeans and headed into the kitchen to make the coffee. He planned to root around Michonne's fridge to find enough ingredients to make her a special breakfast. Maybe grab the cat food from her pantry and feed the current 'man in her life', Hercules.

It made Rick smile to remember Michonne flinching when she'd called him that last night. She just kept surprising him. It made him feel...something like hope.

This morning he was thinking of making some version of _huevos rancheros_ , something he hadn't made in what felt like forever. He knew Michonne was gonna love it, especially with the way she enjoyed to eat.

The sun was shining through the windows as he got to it, knowing he'd easily find most of what he needed. He'd watched her moving around in here plenty.

Normally, he would never allow himself to settle into any aspect of his old life, his old routine with his wife and son. Breakfast on Saturdays was always peaceful, no matter how hard he and Lori were fighting at the time. And every Saturday since she and Carl were killed, he was either drunk or out of the house working or...driving out to visit their graves. Except he never made it out there. He could never bring himself face them. Not yet.

But today, he wanted to make Michonne breakfast, so he _had_ to face them.

As he put on the coffee, he saw himself making the _huevos rancheros_ , or Lori making omlets, bacon and a big, messy fruit salad that they'd all dig into on the couch while they watched the news or sports or cartoons.

Sometimes, when he was smaller, Carl would sit on the floor in front of the TV, wearing his old sheriff's hat, and talk to it like it was a person and they were having a conversation. He was an imaginative kid. He was smart. Lori doted on his talents, getting him into everything - soccer, baseball, theater, science club, you name it.

Before things turned sour between him and his wife, Rick remembered them being happy as clams that they'd started a family. And it was always the happiest on Saturday mornings.

When the memories passed, he found he wasn't quite as gutted as usual, but his chest did of course feel hollow. He used to feel like he would sink into the floor at any moment and join them - but that was just a distant feeling, now. For a long, hard year and a half, that feeling had been very slowly inching further and further away. Somehow, though, being with Michonne was making that distance feel even greater.

Besides, like she'd said last night, he had too many other things occupying his mind to get lost in the mire of his grief.

Michonne was counting on him, and so was Andrea. So was _Amy_ , if she was alive.

 _Could_ she be? Rick found himself in Andrea's boat all of a sudden. Hoping he could somehow, some way, find Amy alive. Or at least find who took her and bring all this shit swiftly to an end.

The coffee pot was just about full and Rick was making a mental note to call Andrea and give her an update when he spotted the cat. Right on time for breakfast, the fat thing glided into the kitchen almost expectantly. He paused to gaze at Rick and then mewed as he stretched and unfurled himself near the food tray with his name on it.

Rick scoffed at the little prince, sauntering barefoot over to the pantry to grab the food so he could start on breakfast and wake Michonne again. He wanted to skip to her reaction, and being near her again, watching her drink her coffee and eat happily. Maybe try to get to know Sasha a bit, which would help him curb his appetite for his neighbor. At least...for the time being.

When he opened the pantry and looked around, however, his feeling of hopeful anticipation vanished. No cat food. Just like the empty tampon box he'd spotted in her garbage upstairs, she was out. He hadn't even thought about how many routines this whole ordeal might have disturbed for Michonne.

Or maybe he didn't know her as well as he thought he did and she kept the cat food elsewhere.

He could have sworn it was in here, but...maybe not. Hercules mewed impatiently, staring over at Rick, his fat tail flicking. He apparently wasn't going to be of any help. His job was to get fed. He was set up to do it - if Rick could get his act together.

"Alright, alright, hold your horses…" Rick muttered sarcastically, closing the pantry with a frown and turning around to eye Michonne's cabinets. He could just ask her, but he had promised her breakfast, and he wasn't going to show his face until he had it. He would let her sleep in as long as she had let him yesterday, and tend to this cat situation by himself. Cat food couldn't be that hard to find.

He looked around for a while, finding nothing. He had a mind to run out and grab some, but the thought of leaving Michonne wasn't appealing.

And then again, while he was looking…

Rick left the coffee and the cat, wandering out into the foyer. He turned to the hallway leading out to the back yard and followed it, pausing at the downstairs bathroom. His mind zeroing in on his cop's senses, he stepped in and looked around. Opened the cabinets. This was more of a guest bathroom, he realized. It had a shower but minimal supplies.

He was looking for cat food. _Focus, Rick_...he forced himself to stop poking around Michonne's personal things and find a place to store cat food.

He moved on to a hall closet. Opening it revealed nothing out of place at first glance. Until Rick noticed the golf bag sitting in the corner. He couldn't be one hundred percent certain (he didn't know her as well as he wanted to fantasize), but Rick didn't think Michonne was a golfer. This bag looked old, untouched for years. And there were no golf clubs in it.

Rick leaned in and examined it. He reached inside it - and pulled out a small black duffle bag.

He stared at it, warring with himself.

In the quiet of early morning, he slowly unzipped the bag. He stood in the open doorway of Michonne's hall closet and examined what he found.

Three carefully wrapped wigs. Four passports, securely bound in leather carriers. Two for Michonne. Two for Andre. There were different names on all of them. One of the sets of names for mother and son was French. In hers, Michonne looked absolutely radiant, as usual, but different for each. In one, she had much, much shorter hair - it was shorn down into an edgy, neat fade out. What looked like Andre's fourth grade basketball team photo was used for both of his.

Rick also found a black, leather-bound address book. A page was marked in it by a red ribbon attached to the spine.

The stoic ex cop pulled it out of the duffle. He stared at it, holding it in one hand, the bag still containing the wigs and passports in the other. He wanted to open it, but he didn't.

He was looking for cat food, he reminded himself.

But he filed this information away for contemplation later, deciding not to judge Michonne on it alone.

She had been poised to run for years while she was with Negan, he could guess. There was no reason to think five years of quiet, false safety would override that instinct for good, or even forever.

It did make him wonder, however, what exactly Michonne knew about Negan that had her so afraid all the time. He knew that she was definitely afraid of Negan finding out about Andre, but maybe...if Rick was being a cop about it, there was something else.

It would behoove him to ask her about it, as soon as possible.

Sighing, Rick carefully put her things back where he'd found them and closed the closet door again.

When he was out in the foyer again he looked to see that their pillow bed and half-finished drinks were still laying around where they'd left them in the living room last night. He walked inside, detecting a hint of all that fucking they did still lingering on the air. He felt himself start to harden again, just thinking about it.

He looked up to see the katana set into the wall above the television. He'd glanced at it last night, but he'd been too distracted thinking about Michonne that he hadn't really paid attention to it. It was beautiful. Elegant. It was encased in a cream leather sheath, and the handwoven leather handle had light brown suede insides.

It was actually kinda sexy. It definitely suited Michonne.

The fat cat skittered by, headed for another hallway off the living room towards the small laundry room and through that, the garage. Maybe he'd gotten so hungry he decided to help Rick out at last.

Rick followed Hercules, trailing him into the laundry room, where there was a door at the other end leading out to the garage. Hercules disappeared through the cat flap in the bottom of the door. Rick eyed the space before sauntering over to the door, just in case he was missing something.

No cat food in sight. Just clean laundry drying on a thin wooden rack that he dutifully ignored.

Rick went out into the garage. It was cooler in here, but only just.

The first thing his keen blue eyes landed on was the car covered in a tarp, parked in the center.

He'd only ever seen Michonne's garage open once since he'd been in the neighborhood, and it was the one time he'd seen Andre. The day she'd shown it to him. He remembered the kid actually jumping for joy. He smiled at the memory, scaling the two short concrete steps and walking closer to it.

Rick ran his fingers along the course canvas tarp until he reached the front passenger side tire, and he knelt down. The wheels looked to be in pretty decent shape, though he wagered they'd need to be checked.

He heard Hercules meowing somewhere, and then the unmistakable sound of litter being raked around in a box, but he ignored it for a moment, curious.

Rick lifted the tarp, getting to his feet again as splinters of sunlight beamed in through the small garage windows. He pulled it off, admiring the fine vintage Camaro he found underneath.

 _Wow,_ he thought, standing back to get a better look at it in the pretty light. _Michonne likes her muscle cars..._ and yet it had been sitting in here for who knew how long. He didn't understand why she never drove it. He could picture Michonne behind the wheel.

This, too, suited her - and it definitely excited _him_.

Rick continued touching it, walking around the front, then around to the other side. His finger made a trail in the light sheen of dust covering the matte black finish. Damn, this was a sweet ride.

He continued his exploration, forgetting about the coffee and the cat once again, until he came to the trunk.

There were fingerprints already disturbing the dust here. They looked about right for Michonne. He wondered what she kept in here. More escape fodder, maybe. The key was nowhere, of course, but then…

On a hunch, Rick knelt down again and felt around under the car until he found it. He was on the point of taking it when he heard Sasha's voice: "Pretty as fuck, isn't it?"

He let his hand ease out from under the car and turned to face her, rising to his feet slowly.

"Yeah. She never drives it, I noticed." He wanted to divert her attention from his bare chest, which she was staring at with that same impressed gleam in her eyes from last night.

He shifted on his feet under her gaze.

Sasha sighed and leaned against the door frame, looking sleepy but amicable. She was wearing very oversized pajamas and holding a cup of the coffee Rick had made. The steam rose to partially obscure her face every now and then. "Nah. She's saving it for Andre, for some crazy ass reason." She rolled her eyes and took a tentative sip from her mug. "Thanks, by the way. It's strong. I'm guessing you made it."

"I did. Any time. I was supposed to make breakfast and feed the cat, too, but...I wandered out here, lookin' for cat food."

Rick took a look around and realized that the cat was long gone.

Sasha sipped her coffee, watching him.

He was a trip. And she was satisfied to know that she'd been right - dude was totally sprung on Michonne. Showing up with purple roses, getting up all early to make breakfast, feeding her asshole cat.

Rick got comfortable, leaning a hand against the trunk of the Camaro, trying to think of something to break the silence. "So why's she savin' it for Andre, if you don't mind me askin'?" He shrugged, not figuring it. "She seems like the kinda woman who'd be only too happy to drive it herself."

Sasha returned his gesture, shaking her head at her best friend's whims. "Who knows with her? Michonne is also a crazy woman, if you hadn't figured out by now. And I say that with love."

They chuckled good-naturedly for a moment. Rick nodded, rubbing his chin. "Somethin' tells me that might have a bit to do with me."

"Well…" she lay her head from side to side, wincing contritely. "Your timing's a bit weird, dude. I mean, Sabine may be the _worst_ , but even I have to admit she wasn't too far off last night. I'm actually surprised Carol hasn't stuck a tracking device up your ass by now…" She frowned thoughtfully to herself.

Rick could only continue nodding slowly. He was very aware of that. And Sasha wasn't too far off about Carol, he suspected.

But he also knew that as long as Michonne wasn't uncomfortable with his forwardness, it didn't matter much. Still, he liked Sasha. So he decided to throw her a bone.

"I meant what I said at dinner." He replied honestly, standing straight again. He looked her directly in the eyes. "To the Atlanta P.D. I may be just a burn out, but I _know_ men like Negan Wolfe. I can help. I will. I'll just have to prove it to you, how about that?"

He sighed, leveling with her.

"And as far as Michonne goes...she's not just anybody to me. That's all you need to worry about."

Sasha studied him some more, hearing the truth in his voice and seeing it in his intense eyes. Michonne had been right. When this guy looked at you, it was like there was fire burning behind his gaze. He didn't fuck around, apparently. Not about anything. Certainly not about Michonne.

Everything she'd witnessed last night and everything he was conveying now with just his body language alone told her all she needed to know. "Okay. Fair enough. But Michonne's not an idiot. She may be hunted by a sociopath, but she's not a damsel in distress, either. She can take care of herself - with _force_ , if necessary - and she's got friends backing her up." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Just keep that in mind, and we're good."

"There's nothin' anyone could say to make me think anythin' different, trust me." Rick grinned. "But consider it noted."

"Consider what noted?"

They were interrupted by Michonne - and as soon as Rick saw her, he felt his dick awaken again.

She was wearing her robe (a short, black, beautifully patterned kimono) and her locs were falling down across her shoulders, framing her face the same way they had last night. Her eyes lingered on Rick as she stepped up to lean against Sasha's side.

"That you're a crazy fool who dotes on your son too much." Sasha replied coolly, kissing her friend on the cheek. "Morning, babe. I see you look...rested. And stuff." She sipped from her coffee, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

Rick shifted on his feet again, turning red from his cheeks to his neck. But he held his ground.

Mostly because all Michonne did was roll her eyes and bump Sasha with her hip.

"Oh please, not as rested as _you_ do in Abe's pajamas." Sasha winced again, caught, and Michonne laughed, looking absolutely radiant in the doorway. Rick swallowed hard, standing back, trying not to bring notice to himself in his rapidly developing state. "I heard very loud peeing in my bathroom and now I find you out here with Rick."

"We maaaybe slept in Andre's room last night - but Abe slept on the _floor_. Pinky swear."

Michonne held out for a second, but eventually took Sasha's outstretched pinky and shook on it. "Whatever, I better not find any stains on my sheets. I should tell Andre on your ass."

"You wouldn't _dare!_ Oh Lord, please spare the child!" Sasha suddenly cried, raising her hand to the sky in exaggerated scandal.

Michonne laughed brightly and Rick couldn't help a bemused chuckle at Sasha's antics.

She gave him a wink and stepped back with her coffee. "Anywaaay...I'm gonna go see what mess my boyfriend's making in your bathroom. Rick promised breakfast, so don't be sucking his face in here too long…"

"God, _get out_ , demon spawn!" Michonne shooed Sasha away, finally embarrassed. "Don't you have a job?"

"Same job as you, princess." Sasha got the last word, disappearing through the laundry room.

But Michonne had already refocused on Rick.

That spark of attraction flared between them once again, as it always did whenever their eyes met.

"Sorry about my silly friend…" she cast out softly.

Rick shrugged. "It's all right. We have an understanding."

She smirked at him, stepping down slowly into the garage, moving towards him. Her shapely, dark, silky legs were fully visible underneath the short kimono. "Oh you do, do you?"

"Yeah…" he breathed, watching her make her way closer and closer. He felt that aching need again.

When she reached him, she got close enough to touch, and he leaned in even closer. "My stomach started growling."

Rick gave a slight, crooked smile, staring at her soft, delectable skin. "Sorry. I got distracted searchin' the place for cat food." Michonne laughed quietly at him. "You think that's funny, huh?"

She nodded, but he was already moving in for a kiss.

But she moved away from him first, sliding around his front, her fingers and the silky fabric of her robe trailing his warm skin, leaving electricity in their wake. Rick followed her with his gaze as she strolled around the Camaro to its driver's side and turned to face him again, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

He came around to meet her as she tugged on the belt to her robe. It came loose, causing Rick's breath to catch in his throat. His abdomen tightened and he forgot about the mystery of the trunk as he stepped still closer. His eyes roamed her body until he saw that she was now wearing a pair of his - their - favorite underwear.

They were red and sheer, with a deep V panty line that barely covered her moist sex. She didn't wear them often, but when she did he loved to watch her walk around in them. They hugged her hips...just so.

"Touch me, Rick." She uttered, desire blooming in her large, brown eyes.

Rick licked his lips and he was suddenly leaning into her again, his forehead pressed to hers, his hands now searching for her skin.

He reached up slowly and pulled her robe open to reveal more of her to his roaming eyes. Michonne bit her lip, watching his, tantalized by the feel of his elegant fingers touching her. Her sex tensed, her nipples hardened, and Rick was encouraged. He raked his fingers across her hips and pulled her closer so that she was caught against his hardening bulge.

" _Now_ you can kiss me…" she whispered against his chin.

He leaned in and took the kiss, hard and slow.

Michonne moaned into his mouth, and he was lost again, turning her swiftly and backing her into the Camaro.

He hoisted her up onto the hood, diving between her legs and wrapping his mouth around one of her juicy, beckoning dewdrop breasts as she squirmed underneath him. She was slick, hot, and wet in mere seconds, grinding on him as he massaged and pulled at her nipple hungrily with his tongue.

Rick was seized with overwhelming lust, the intensity of it making his balls quiver, and he had to have her. Michonne lifted his face to kiss him desperately, feeling the same tension winding her tight, a desire for him so strong that she was on the verge of cumming all over the front of his jeans right then. Just the rock hard bulk and length of him stroking her through her sheer red panties was enough to get her off on the hood of her muscle car.

Rick unzipped his pants, kissing her deeply. She let go of his lips to bite his neck before whispering urgently in his ear, licking his lobe: "Yes, Rick...please fuck me... _hard_. I need you inside me. Hurry, baby!"

He pulled himself out of the prison of his pants, hot and dripping for her, and then rudely pulled her panties to the side, exposing her slick, tender center.

Michonne hissed, so ready for him it hurt. She loved his roughness as he scooped her plump ass into both his hands, hoisting her up on top of the hood and driving himself inside of her with a hoarse grunt.

His thick, pulsing head broke through her willing, tight little pussy lips and was followed by a long, hot push of his steel length all the way to the back of her. Her ass bounced against him and he almost swooned.

Rick claimed her mouth again, silencing her moans of ecstasy with a long, deep kiss. And he began to thrust, hypnotized by every single second of it. They panted and moaned as quietly as they could as Michonne rode him on top of her car - each stroke so deep and forceful it drove a spike of white hot pleasure through her every single time.

"Ooooh…! _Fuu-uuck_ , Rick!" She whimpered as he made her ache with need around him.

She was beginning to practically cream for him, so snug and wet around him it turned him feral.

" _God_ , you're so fuckin' sexy, Michonne…" Rick whispered roughly, pausing to grind his hips with careful precision as he pounded into her tight, sopping wet pussy over and over again. He parted her ass cheeks to give himself more room to enjoy her wrapped all around him, a steel rod plundering a wet, skin-tight canal.

The cool, matte surface of the Camaro stuck to her dampening skin as Rick clutched at her and fucked her as hard as she'd begged him to, and suddenly it was too much. She came to pieces with his last few strong thrusts, drenching his cock.

Rick tried to tame the wild need in him to cum inside her, slowing down, his back bowing over with the effort. She just felt _so good_ tightening and spasming around him, drowning him in her juices.

Michonne heard him struggling, grunting as his momentum shifted, and she pulled herself from the aftermath of her amazing orgasm to let go of his neck. She let her robe slip from her arms and lifted her ass in his hands so that it slid to the floor.

She sucked his lips as she eased back from him. He his hot, pulsing dick fell heavy and dripping from her depths. Michonne slid gracefully to her knees onto the discarded kimono without missing a beat.

Rick gasped and stepped back, mutely watching as she wrapped her sexy lips around his hard, glistening cock and sucked his orgasm from him with bewildering skill. He buckled over to support his weight on the hood of the Camaro with both hands, his eyes crushing shut at the sensation of his hot cum being drained and swallowed into Michonne's slick, scorching throat.

"Ohhh, _holy fuckin' Jesus_ , Michonne…!" he groaned, unable to keep from thrusting slowly into her mouth as she licked and sucked on him like he was Tootsie Pop. Her lips felt like a dream attached to him, twisting and turning around him, enjoying him.

 _Fuck_ , she was sexy. He came harder, his thighs as stiff as boards, until it finally passed and he was empty.

When she let him pop from between her juicy, wet lips, Rick stepped back and pulled roughly her up to her feet by her arms, exhaling through his nostrils. She was almost naked and silky-smooth and so _fucking hot_ he could hardly stand it. He couldn't believe his luck. He kissed her lips needily, staring at her as he stroked her backside.

"You're _trouble_ , 'Miss Williamson'." He uttered hoarsely, gazing into her beautiful brown eyes. He felt a surge of intoxicating obsession course through him as she kissed her lips some more. He moved down to kiss her neck, accepting his fate. "Nothin' but trouble…"

He didn't care at all. He was on this ride for the long haul. There was no way he wanted to stop now.

"I told you...I was hungry."

Rick chuckled, floored by her coquettish tone, something Lori could never really pull off. Michonne was no damsel, Sasha was right. But _damn it all to hell_ , if that look in her big brown eyes and the sweet, sexy lilt of her smooth voice didn't make him want to grant her any wish she desired.

"What are you doing out here looking for cat food, anyway? I usually keep it in the pantry, Mr. Watcher."

And just like that, after making his sated dick jump again against her thigh, she was making fun of him.

He laughed quietly some more as they quickly put themselves back together again and worked together to cover the car. "I just thought I'd be thorough. Found this work of art, sittin' here all lonely and undriven under this ugly tarp."

" _Hey_ , I got this tarp at Home Depot on sale, thank you very much." Michonne joked, stepping up to him again, frowning at his curiosity.

"Sasha says you're savin' it for Andre." Rick pressed, wrapping a lean, muscular arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He kissed her gently, waiting. Michonne was smart. He had a hunch that, as close as she was with her best friend, maybe there were some secrets even Sasha couldn't be privy to. He wanted to give Michonne the chance to tell him about anything she needed to. He wanted her to trust him enough to offer the truth to him. "I was just thinkin' that it'd be the perfect cover if you wanted to keep it outta sight for other reasons."

Michonne gazed up at Rick, not surprised that giving in to her gargantuan craving for him wouldn't distract him from asking about the Camaro. Rick wasn't stupid. She fell deeper into his eyes, wanting to tell him - to show him. To ask him for his help. _Not_ wanting to shatter his image of her.

"Whoo- _WEE!_ It is riper 'an the back room at The Player's Club in here!"

They were interrupted by a booming, country twang. It sounded out in the small garage and bounced off the walls, causing both Rick and Michonne to wince. Rick let his eyes rise from Michonne's tense face to the doorway to the laundry room. Standing there, grinning at them with a mixing bowl caught between his big hands, was a tall, broad, bear of a man with a ginger handlebar mustache and a matching ginger flat top.

He was practically a hairy-armed version of a G.I. Joe action figure. The haircut, tank top, the dog tags, the boxers, and the boots. He grinned at them unabashedly as he continued dutifully stirring something in the mixing bowl.

"Hope y'all worked up an appetite out here. 'Cause Abraham's makin' his famous Good Luck Pancakes!"

Michonne groaned into Rick's chest. "Rick, Abraham. Abraham...my neighbor Rick."

Abe gave Rick a cordial nod. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Neighbor Rick. Sorry for interruptin', 'Chonne. But if you're both done ticklin' your wigglies..." Then he, amazingly, wiggled his bushy red eyebrows. "It's chow time!"

* * *

Breakfast went off without a hitch, despite their somewhat painfully awkward introduction.

Abe made his famous pancakes (complete with whipped cream and cherries on top) and Rick made his ranch eggs with black beans, salsa, sour cream and avocado. He even cooked the rest of the bacon while Abe bragged about his team's odds at the all-day bowling tournament he would compete in.

Rick liked Abraham - he was a bit of an oddball, but he was also charmingly funny, and _definitely_ head over heels for his girlfriend Sasha. They made a good couple, their temperaments complimented each other perfectly.

What Rick liked most about Abraham was that he didn't ask too many questions. He was more content to talk about himself, or himself and Sasha. He looked like the kinda guy who'd been caught with his pants down more than once in his lifetime, so he left well enough alone.

As he'd been hoping, their company meant Rick got to watch Michonne enjoy her food, with relish. They had a veritable breakfast feast, complete with grapes and clementines Sasha had scrounged up as a contribution.

Sasha hung against Abe at the kitchen island with Rick and Michonne while the big ginger told the tale of how he'd nearly wrapped her Audi around a neighborhood light post, wearing nothing but his boxers and his boots that time, too. He'd been letting their dog out in the back yard, a Black Lab/Pit mix named Punisher who had somehow escaped.

His petite girlfriend fed him grapes every now and then, laughing at him as he regaled them.

"So I'm sleepy as shit, lightin' up a cigar, not paying attention. Goddamned dog just _took off!_ " He recounted, shaking his head as he sawed through the air with his free hand. "Hell, I panicked! Sasha's fancy ass car was parked last so I got the keys, hopped inside and took off after him! He shot clear across the neighborhood, I swear. And my ass is sweatin', and I'm yellin out the window like a lunatic: ' _HEEL, PUNISHER, HEEL! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!_ '"

"In his _drawers_ , y'all…" Sasha rolled her eyes at him, taking over to describe the scene after the accident. Her and Abe standing on the curb with a tuckered out but happy Punisher finally leashed properly (by Sasha). Abe in nothing but his boxers as she gave him the silent treatment and watched the toe tow truck take her Audi away. "I love that car. My daddy bought me that car!" She slapped his chest and he flinched sheepishly. "If I don't get it back like new, I'm gonna _kill you._ "

Rick enjoyed watching the happy couple do their thing, but of course he couldn't help watching Michonne interact with her old friends, either. She was radiant. Relaxed. Funny. And still the sexiest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

He had decided to let the moment in the garage pass and not pressure her to tell him anything she wasn't ready to tell him. He would just get to work, and if there was something she was hiding, it would come out one way or the other. He planned on being thorough, like he'd promised.

They finished their breakfast, got dressed, and Abraham said his goodbyes. Sasha kissed him good luck and thanked Rick for breakfast. "So can a girl bum a ride to work?" She asked with one of her contrite winces as she backed up towards the stairs in Abe's giant PJ's. "I am not a fan of that big, stinky ass bus."

"Sure. I need to go into the city today, anyway." Rick obliged.

"Good idea. I'll go with you." Michonne chimed in, lifting herself up slightly to kiss Rick's soft pink lips. "I'm technically still off, but I need to talk to my supervisor. And _you_ need _real_ stitches, mister."

She poked him in the chest and he grinned. "Alright. I'll give you a lift. I should...probably go change."

He didn't want to leave her, but he had his own shower at home and some plans to confirm. Besides, he figured he'd snooped around her place enough for one morning.

He made up his mind not to do that again. Trust went both ways.

Sasha disappeared upstairs, leaving Rick and Michonne alone in the quiet, sunny foyer. He had put on his clothes from last night, his tie hanging out of his back jeans pocket.

He wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her tenderly. Though she still wore her robe open, she was now in a pair of thin little sweat shorts that hugged her ass perfectly and a tank top that allowed him a peek down into her amazing cleavage.

Rick couldn't help himself - he found his hands roaming downward so that he could knead her buoyant, muscular backside, growing hard against her stomach. Their kiss deepened as Michonne raked her fingers through his curls and pulled him closer.

"See you in a little bit…?" She breathed, her nipples sprouting at the behest of his fixated gaze as she finally broke their kiss.

"Not soon enough." He replied huskily, causing a sliver of desire to caress her sex.

Rick took hold of her cheek and pulled her in for another succulent kiss before reluctantly letting her go.

* * *

Rick stalked back to his house under the morning sun, the trek feeling familiar on his second round.

He wondered how many more times he'd make this trip from Michonne's lawn to his, and he found that he couldn't wait to find out. It was the little things with Michonne, he realized, that made this so new and truthfully pretty exciting.

He wanted to collect more and more little things until he really _did_ know her as well as he badly wanted to. The comfort and safety of routine...that was one of those little domestic treasures that most people didn't even realize was part of falling for someone. At with the way he was feeling right now, there was no point in denying to himself that that was exactly what was happening.

He was falling head over heels for Michonne.

It was like an adrenaline rush. A high that hadn't coursed through his old bones in a long, long time.

It felt damned good.

Buzzing with purpose, Rick let himself into his dark, cool house, showered and quickly got dressed in dark blue jeans and a cream button-down shirt. He holstered his Python under his arm, checking that it was loaded, and stalked down his stairs.

Before he went out to meet Michonne and Sasha by his Bronco, he sent a quick text to a friend he planned to visit today, out where he lived in Greenbriar - an unrelated Jones by the name of Morgan.

The Bullet Man, they called him in the neighborhood. He was respected, almost revered in his legendary little corner of Atlanta. What he didn't know about guns and ammunition, Rick was hard-pressed to find. He gave Shane a run for his money. It was time to find out about those oddly-shaped bullet holes in Amy's car. And Rick would need all the brainpower he could get on this.

He met the two friends outside by his truck and they loaded up to head out for the day.

Once again, it was shaping up to be sweltering. Summer had kicked into high gear.

Heat radiated from the pavement in visible waves as Rick's Bronco shot down the hill.

An F.B.I. unit with Tobin behind the wheel and his partner in the passenger seat left the van parked down the street as they followed Rick into town.

Rick drove fast and smooth along the expressway while Sasha and Michonne talked about how good he was with Andre at dinner the night before.

"Seriously, that whole ' _Rocky'_ speech you gave him last night? I thought Sabine was gonna fall over, she was eavesdropping so hard." Sasha complimented him from the back seat with a wide grin. His shiney blues flickered up at her shyly through the rear view mirror as she put her dukes up. "That shit was good. You should be a coach."

Michonne simply watched Rick accept the compliment with quiet politeness as he drove on. "Yeah. Andre was in heaven. I'll bet he'll be obsessed with boxing when he comes back from California."

"Carl was, when he was Andre's age…" Rick offered unexpectedly, avoiding her gaze as he switched lanes and got them near the exit toward the hospital. The sleek, black F.B.I. unit following them stayed at least two cars behind, but they kept up easily. After a moment in which neither woman knew exactly what to say to fill the silence, he continued: "He used to spar with Shane all the time. I helped out sometimes, but Shane made it more fun for him, I guess. He was good." He sighed, remembering it with a heavy mixture of tenderness and pain. "But after all that trainin', he lost his first couple o'big matches and then...that was it. His heart just wasn't in it the same after that. My wife Lori was pretty relieved when he quit, though."

A wistful smile played at his plush lips, even as sadness swam in his beautiful blue eyes. Again, neither woman had anything to respond with.

Michonne reached out and stroked one of his hands that gripped the steering wheel. He turned his fingers around to grasp hers in his, bringing it up to his warm lips to kiss the smooth skin on the back of it.

The moment passed and the trio made it to Grady Memorial in good time.

Rick hated hospitals.

He'd done okay for over a year patchin' up his own wounds, and he'd been lucky enough so far not to be critically impaired doing the kinda work he did.

He'd only been half-kidding when he'd marveled at Michonne's ability to withstand the queasy, bleak atmosphere that saturated the place like a dense, invisible fog. It clung to the air, seeping into his pores and crawling down into his lungs, making his head start to pound as soon as he set foot inside. He kept his mouth shut, however, jaw clenched as he followed Michonne and Sasha through the halls.

As they went, Rick tried very hard not to think about the last time he'd walked into a hospital of his own free will, back in King County. And that time, his legs and feet felt like they were filled with cement. It was a painfully gut wrenching day. The hardest of his life.

The day he'd been called to the hospital with the news that his wife and son were no longer alive.

Rick forced the memory of that horrible scene from his mind and tried to see the actual hospital he was in as he followed closely behind Michonne, not looking at any of the grim faces surrounding him.

One of the agents who'd followed them out here stayed parked near the emergency room while Tobin kept close. They all four got into an elevator. The silence going up the three short flights to Michonne's floor was heavy and a bit awkward.

Sasha had that look of excitement on her face again. Michonne was being shy all of a sudden, sticking close to Rick, avoiding his eyes now as she stroked his big hand in hers. Tobin simply stared at the floor numbers changing on the digital display.

When they reached her floor, the elevator doors opened out into the nurse's station. Every nurse on duty turned their heads to notice Michonne. It was almost as if they'd been waiting for her arrival.

" _Michonne!?_ " They all greeted her at once as she, Rick, Sasha and Tobin walked out of the elevator. "Abe and Maggie told us what happened!" … "Are you _okay?_ " … "Someone tried to _rob_ you?"... "Your neighbor _stabbed_ a guy?"... "Is this him, is this the neighbor?"... "He's handsome…" … "What's up with dude in the suit?"

" _Ahem_ \- hey there, you must be Rick? I'm Maggie. Maggie Greene." A bright, green-eyed Southern beauty in a peach nurses' uniform tucked her short dark hair behind her ear as she pushed to the front. She offered her hand to Rick over the counter, beaming at him. "I'm Michonne's _other_ best friend. It's nice to finally meet ya."

"Hello…" Rick shook her hand firmly, his lips pursed. "Nice to meet you too, Maggie."

Maggie grinned at him with that same sparkle of excitement that Sasha had taken to staring at him with as she turned his bandaged hand over in hers, examining it as if it belonged to her. "Holy mackerel, Rick...you _did_ beat the shit outta that robber. Did you punch him in the teeth or somethin'? You need stitches bad."

" _Thank you_ for your completely _unnecessary_ professional assessment, Maggie. I was just about to get a suture kit." Michonne removed an awkwardly bemused Rick's hand from her curious best friend's. Her face was as hot as coals as she ignored and answered her coworkers's nosey inquiries in turn, taking her handsome, knife-wielding, ass-kicking neighbor by the hand now to sweep him away before any more vultures could swoop down. She called over her shoulder: "You can be a muffin and bring me some betadine, though. I know you guys didn't restock it like I asked you to..."

Tobin frowned at the peanut gallery, but remained silent as he took up a watch post outside the small suture room near a waiting area filled with patients.

Maggie ignored her, turning to make bug eyes at Sasha, who only nodded with mutual awe. "Wow..."

"Homeboy can cook, too." Sasha reported to a captive audience. " _And_ he shut her sister Sabine down - _twice_. It was beautiful, you should've been there, girl. It was like watching Dr. Phil."

Michonne rolled her eyes as she led Rick into the room and pushed him gently down into a seat. She disappeared into a cabinet for a moment, digging out a suture kit and some sterile gloves. He watched her, also ignoring their welcoming party and finding his anxiousness about being in this environment easing off. Being close to her was a welcome distraction.

Michonne found about five drops of betadine left and decided it would have to do. She felt Rick's eyes on her in the quiet little suture room, but she tried to ignore how it made her skin tingle. Rick could see Sasha and Maggie gossiping at the nurses' station through the open blinds in the window behind where Michonne pulled up a little stool across from him. She set up the suture kit, betadine, bandages and giant cotton swabs on a little medical tray held up by a stand that she'd positioned between them under a tall lamp.

Beyond the nurses' station, Rick could see the waiting room filled with bored or sick-looking patients.

But he refocused on Michonne again as she turned on the lamp, casting a warm glow down onto the tray. He watched her glove herself before taking his hand and gently unwrapping his soiled gauze.

His eyes rose from her slender fingers turning his palm around between them to light on her shapely lips. A soft smile played at them as she tried to focus on what she was doing. Even here in her hospital, with her coworkers watching behind them, she couldn't help the affect Rick's intense focus had on her.

Her lips began to move under his fixated gaze. "So, what does a private investigator do on a Saturday?"

Rick's eyes flickered across her beautiful face as she irrigated with saline, then swabbed his deep, nasty gash with betadine before gently laying his hand down onto the tray.

"Follow up on leads, mostly," came his quiet reply, deciding not to mention his occasional gumption to try (and fail) to visit his family's graves. She continued listening as she worked, and he continued watching her. "I'm goin' out to my friend Morgan's place in Greenbriar to follow up on this case I'm workin' on now. Missing girl. It's...complicated." Rick winced as Michonne very carefully stuck the needle driver into his skin and began to thread the stitches, closing up the wound. He kept talking to keep his mind off what she was doing, and the smell of the sterilized (but still somehow soiled-smelling) air around him. "But, I've already sent in a partner of mine to ask around about Negan. What he's plannin'...see if I can get ahead of it."

He watched for her reaction. She paused, but nodded slowly, still concentrating. In the ensuing silence, Michonne felt the same surge of curiosity she had the night he rescued her from the man in the mask. If he was really going to start poking around her ex's affairs, he was putting himself in danger. She'd heard him say it before, but still…the reality of it made her uneasy. Worried for him, despite knowing he could probably take care of himself. "Why are you doing all this, Rick? You've already got a case. A complicated one. Isn't one enough? Why are you helping me? _Really?_ "

She continued to sew slowly as she waited for his answer, still not looking at him.

Rick gazed at her, deciding to keep telling her the plain truth. It had been working up to this point.

"Before I met you...I didn't live for much." His low, husky drawl filled the quiet in the little room. "I got up every day...I went to work...I did things...some good, some of 'em bad. But I wasn't livin'. Not really." Rick leaned forward, his voice serious. "But gettin' to know _you_ these last two days? Gettin' to know your family, even just a little bit? It's been more livin' than I've done in God knows how long. That's not somethin' I take lightly, Michonne. That's somethin' to cherish. That's somethin' to _protect_. At least, for me."

He hoped she understood. That it didn't overwhelm her or cause her to feel pressured - any more boxed in than she already had to be feeling. After a moment, she nodded, finally lifting her eyes to his as she paused her suturing.

Michonne shook her head at him in wonder, completely mystified by him. "You're so... _different_ , Rick…" She breathed. "I don't know who you are, really." Her eyes flickered across his handsome, chiseled face in the glowing halo of light from the lamp. "But you don't scare me. You don't scare my son, either. That's not something _I_ take lightly."

"Andre's a good kid. You raised him well. He doesn't scare me, either." He joked earnestly. She smiled and continued what she was doing. "I hope I wasn't steppin' over any boundaries with him last night. He's kinda hard to say no to." He grinned crookedly, fighting off a sharp intake of breath when she tugged on his skin a little too hard with the needle driver.

Michonne winced contritely, but continued: " _No_ , are you kidding? He's got stars in his eyes over you. I...actually never thought he'd take to someone like he did to you. Not any time soon, anyway. I know I'm gonna sound like a broken record at this point, but thank you. With everything going on...I'm just glad he feels safe around you, Rick. I think he kinda looks up to you already. I can't be his mother _and_ his best friend. Maybe when he was little, but...not anymore."

She waited to see how he'd react, closing in on the end of the long gash across the base of his thick, hard knuckles.

"Any time. I'm glad he's comfortable around me." Was all he said, remembering how his own son had emulated him, wearing his old sheriff deputy's hat like a good luck charm before he entered his teens. He had done everything he could to please his father - boxing, soccer, math and science, even paying attention to the case sometimes when Rick worked late at home nights. He found these memories stung, but not nearly as unpleasantly as usual.

Michonne could see the ghosts passing like shadows across his face. "I know that's a lot to throw at you." She assured him firmly, her voice low and hesitant. "We just met and my kid isn't your responsibility. So if you ever feel like it's a bit too much for a woman you barely know…"

"I'm done bein' the creepy guy next door." He responded firmly. Michonne stopped her suturing and looked up at him again, finding the passionate gleam of determination in his cerulean eyes comforting. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Michonne. I meant what I said - anything you need."

Michonne felt overwhelmed with gratitude and desire. She forced herself to concentrate on finishing his stitches instead of leaning over to capture his plush, pink lips in full view of her nosey coworkers.

"I'm thinking of maybe going to the gun range when I'm done here. I need to practice. It's been ages." She made conversation while she finished him up. She scoffed. "That Special Agent Tobin guy can give a few refresher tips, maybe." Michonne sighed, lifting her head from her bent position over her work, finally done. "Or maybe I'll just stay here and take a shift. I don't think I could stand to pace around my house all day again, waiting for someone to come after me."

Rick eyed her as she cleaned her handiwork and reached for clean gauze. "My guy on the inside is diggin' into anyone who might have you on a hit list. I'm gonna check in with him - I'll fill you in later?" He sighed, watching her, unable to stop the question from falling from his lips as she wrapped his hand: "Can you think of anythin' he should know? Anyone you can remember from before, when you were with Negan? Someone he could I.D.? Or maybe...Michonne, is there anythin' Negan could be after besides Andre? Any little bit helps."

Michonne secured the gauze around Rick's hand and gradually lifted her gaze to meet his. She wanted to tell him. About the two million dollars. He waited, not wishing to pressure her either way. But if there was something he needed to know, then he needed to know it. And she would have to tell him sooner or later. Hopefully sooner.

"Oh. So you're back." A sharp, high-pitched female voice sounded from the doorway.

Both Rick and Michonne were torn from their fixation on each other as they looked to find a petite red-haired doctor standing behind Michonne, leaning slightly to the side with her right arm slung into an arm crutch. Her name tag said Dr. Kerry Weaver, E.R. Resident and Chief of Staff.

She adjusted her glasses and eyed Rick sternly for a beat, then her gaze switched to Michonne. "And looking safe and sound. Excellent, then you can come and talk to me for a sec. Excuse us, would you?" She gave Rick a terse nod and stepped aside on her good leg, waiting expectantly for Michonne.

"Oh - Dr. Weaver, uh, I-I was gonna come and see you, I just needed to get Rick stitched up…" Michonne offered hastily, cleaning up the mess from the stitch job and rising from her stool. "I'm supposed to be off today. Really, I wasn't planning to clog things up."

"That may be Ms. Williamson, but given the circumstances…" Dr. Weaver sighed hard, leaning on her crutch, looking stressed and not in the mood for B.S. "Frankly, the major traffic jam all this distraction has caused among my staff and my nurses supervisor giving me word that the _F.B.I._ is sending sentinels to stalk around in my halls, intimidating my patients…?" She jerked her small, red-topped head toward the door, where Tobin stood just outside, listening but ignoring her tinny voice. "You can understand why my hands are tied." She blinked at Michonne patiently over the rim of her eyeglasses. Rick watched her, respecting her authority enough to remain silent. "And why I need some questions answered."

"Yes ma'am, of course. Just a minute." Michonne settled into the fact that she was in a little bit of trouble and now under the scrutiny of her job. She tossed the used supplies from her stitch job and gave Rick an apologetic look. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

He nodded, his eyes following her as she left the small room behind the slight and limping, but commanding Dr. Weaver.

Rick's focus eventually drifted back to the nurses station as he waited, still seated in the chair behind the little tray. He rubbed his newly bandaged hand, watching Maggie read over a chart before walking over to the waiting area to question a patient. Shasha was gone now, probably out on a call. The two remaining nurses at the station went about their business, though they glanced curiously over at Tobin and Rick through the open blinds in the glass window every now and then.

He shifted his gaze to the waiting area, scanning the faces of the eclectic group of patients there. Until his eyes landed on one in particular.

He was hunched down in his seat - a young, serious-looking white kid with thick chin and moustache fuzz adorning his parlour. His eyes were a little hard to make out, though, because he was wearing a black hoodie, the hood pulled low over his face. He held his arm up against the arm of the hair at the elbow, his wrist gingerly balancing on the air and his concentration. He looked slightly pained...but his eyes were keen, observant.

They met Rick's.

They stared at each other for a beat, and Rick got a warning tug in his gut at the cold glint in the kid's dark eyes. He didn't like it.

He stood up from the stool, on the point of sauntering out of the room and over to the waiting area, when Maggie stepped in to block the doorway. "Hey. Michonne's gonna be a minute. You need anythin' while you're waitin'?" She asked, her accent reminding him of back home. He thought her snazzy peach nurses' uniform suited her, too. She was trying not to openly stare at his gun, he also noticed.

He shook his head at her. "No, thank you." Then he frowned again and gestured behind her with his chin. "Who's the kid in the hoodie?"

Maggie turned to catch sight of who he was referring to. She squinted over into the waiting area where the faint fluorescent lighting was blinking on and off sporadically. "Oh, just some homeless kid. We get 'em all the time." She informed him nonchalantly, turning back into the room. "He came in complainin' of wrist pain. I think he's waitin' on an ex-ray. Why?"

Rick eyed the kid some more. He was now flipping uninterestedly through a magazine with his uninjured hand, still holding his other wrist upward as though it hurt him to move it into any other position.

After a moment's hesitation, he shook his head. "Never mind. Thank you, Maggie." He offered her a polite smile as she blushed and stepped out of the room.

"Okay, well...you just let me know if you need anythin', then." Rick couldn't help his gaze from flickering to where the kid was now being led out of the waiting area by a bored-looking doctor.

"No, I'm just waiting for Michonne, thanks." He reassured her, distracted as the hooded kid disappeared around a corner, out of sight down a hallway that probably led to more examination rooms.

When Maggie left him, Rick sauntered out of the room and turned to face Tobin.

"Hey, you see which way Michonne went?"

Tobin nodded, gesturing down the same hallway as the kid. "She went with that doc on the crutch to a back corridor, there. She'll probably complain, but we have clearance." He adjusted himself in his rigid stance, taking a keen glance around. "Wherever Miss Williamson goes, _we_ go. Special Agent Peletier's orders."

Rick nodded, the fingers of his good hand flexing at his side. "Yeah, good. There's a kid with a hoodie on, somethin's wrong with his wrist. Keep an eye on him, would ya?"

Tobin frowned skeptically, but nodded, his stiff chin almost kissing his Adam's apple. "Copy that. I'll wait for Miss Williamson here while she has words with that doc."

Rick relaxed a little, but only just. Suddenly his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

He pulled it out and looked down at it, standing next to Tobin in the hall near the station.

Speaking of the devil. It was the beginning of a chain of texts from Carol. He could tell because of its straightforwardness and the simple 'C' signature at the end of it.

He _would_ try to guess how she'd gotten his number, but that would be stupid.

' _Mr Grimes.'_

' _We need to talk.'_

' _Have a proposal for you.'_

' _Where can we meet? -C'_

Rick replied:

' _Grady Memorial. Sure.'_

He decided to text Michonne when Carol replied that she was on her way.

* * *

"Look, I understand, you have your reasons and I won't get into your business. It's not like the goddamned F.B.I. will let me in on 'classified information' that has the board of directors calling me in the middle of the night while my pregnant wife is trying to sleep." Dr. Weaver was rambling in the hallway several examination rooms away from the nurses' station. Her blue eyes flickered seriously at Michonne from behind her glasses. "But you cannot be in here with some dangerous mad man on the loose. It's a danger to my patients, and frankly, a danger to _you_ , Michonne. Don't you think you should be laying low?"

Michonne sighed, crossing her arms. "Fine. I'll take a few days off."

"Good choice." Kerry nodded empathetically, reaching out to squeeze Michonne's shoulder. "Take as long as you need. Call me if you _do_ need anything, though. And stay safe, all right Michonne?"

"Will do." Michonne replied glumly.

Kerry walked away with the aid of her crutch, leaving Michonne alone in the hallway.

Sighing hard, she decided to stock up on betadine and other supplies for the suture room while she was here. She would just have to get Rick to drop her off at the gun range in town and blow off steam that way.

Michonne punched in the key code on the door to the medical supply closet and it breezed open with a soft click. She turned the heavy steel handle and walked inside, feeling comforted by the familiar off-while shelves surrounding her in the dim pinkish light. The rows and rows of pills and serums and supplies were as sure a thing as any in her volatile world. She knew them inside and out, backwards and forwards.

Michonne went directly to the shelf she needed, that housed the suture supplies, eager to get back out to Rick and get him out of there.

She made up her mind to tell him about the money.

As she scooped up saline syringes and needle drivers sealed in airtight plastic, she decided that maybe she'd do it tonight. When they were alone. Away from everyone, like before. Safe in her living room or her bed. She hoped he'd come back to her place tonight.

She hadn't been kidding when she confessed that as many rounds of the all-consuming sex they could have as possible felt like the best thing for her right now.

Suddenly, her phone went off. It surprised her, with her being in part of the hospital with particularly shitty reception. But sometimes she got texts. She dumped some of the supplies on the shelf just at her stomach, pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket. It was Rick.

Michonne smiled curiously at his text.

' _You done yet?'_

She bit her lip to suppress an enamored grin and punched in a reply.

' _Coming...miss you, too.'_

After a few seconds of blinking ellipses, he answered.

' _Don't think I should tell u how much I miss u.'_

Then:

' _Think ur frnd Carol's tryin to recruit me.'_

Michonne chuckled, not surprised in the least. Carol was a hawk. When she saw an asset, she went after it. She was an expert at using innate talents to serve her needs. She'd done the same with most of her team, assembled from a bunch of smart, tough misfits she picked up on cases around the world. It was like some kind of 'Ocean's Eleven' shit, at its most ridiculous. But Carol's methods had saved her life. They were how she'd gotten Eugene to work his magic and get Michonne out of Negan's clutches for good. They were also how she'd gotten Michonne to hold on for all that time, talking her down from killing him to instead patiently wait for her chance to help them take him down, not _just_ escape him.

Her back was turned to the doorway, which was ajar.

She was so deep in her thoughts about Rick that she didn't notice the dark figure silently, carefully approaching her.

The hooded, cold-eyed kid from the waiting room.

Only now, he was wearing a terrifying white, paper mache mask. The mask's 'eyes' and 'mouth' were mere slits, slowly, silently revealed underneath the pinkish hue of the overhead light.

And he was on top of her, enclosing her in a vise-like grip so strong that Michonne was bewildered as her heart jumped into her throat. Her phone clattered to the floor, along with the few supplies she still held as the hooded man clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.

He wrapped her in a choke hold, quelling her struggling with silent, cold will. He was lean, and nimble, but he was _strong_. He overpowered her with his grip alone, making her feel like she was going to pass out at any moment as her legs kicked and thrashed beneath her.

"Shhhhh…that's it…pretty thing you are..." he whispered softly, almost kindly. "Now. Answer me truthfully, or I'll snap your neck before you can finish breathin' your last."

He let go of her mouth to jerk his hand outward at his side - the supposedly wounded one he'd been holding up against the chair arm while Rick stared at him. Out of his sleeve shot a razor-sharp, jaggedly serrated bowie knife attached to some sort of hidden rig. Michonne gasped and tried to fight, but his grip only tightened around her throat, cutting off her air supply as he brought the deadly-looking weapon to her rib cage, pressing its tip to the underside of her breast.

"Where's the boy?"

* * *

 _ **1.**_ _ **The next chapter won't be up as soon as I'd hoped. Work calls. Gotta go sell shit to millennials. But only delayed by a week, maybe a week and a half,**_ _ **tops**_ _ **! I'm on a roll, here.**_

 _ **2.**_ _ **THERE'S SO MUCH MORE TO COME. INCLUDING:**_

 _ **3\. Checking in with The Beast, The Master, and Amy...**_

 _ **4.**_ _ **Interesting revelations about the weapon that killed Carl/Lori and wounded Amy from The Bullet Man, Morgan…**_

 _ **5\. Carol makes a bargain with Rick, and we move into Phase II: The** **Negan** **Wolfe Case for a bit...including revelations about how deep Carol and Michonne's relationship goes, and Eugene's sacrifice…**_

 _ **6\. Rick's touching gesture that SEALS. THE FUCKIN. DEAL. for Michonne...**_

 _ **7\. More appearances by Glenn, Sasha, Maggie, Abe, Dr. Weaver, Tobin, Daryl, Andre, Sabine, and Paper Mache Face Assasin Man.**_

 _ **8\. New appearances by** **Negan** **Wolfe, Eugene, The Deputy Warden of the Supermax, T-Dog, Andrea, AND MUCH MUCH MORE.**_

 _ **9\. As always, you can find all the songs used for atmosphere/inspiration in my Spotify playlist, updated with each new chapter. Just search 'Vantage Point', or find me on Tumblr :) Seriously, it helps me with my writing so much to do it to a soundtrack...**_

 _ **10\. I am insane. THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!**_

 _ **-Kendra**_


	13. the bargain

**WARNING: Potentially triggering violence ahead.**

 **This is another long one.**

 **Lots to get through, lots to come. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of..._

' _The 2nd Law: Isolated System', Muse_

* * *

"Where's the boy?"

Michonne's eyes darted all around her under the dim pinkish light, desperate for something - _anything_ \- to grasp hold of. She saw shelves, walls, a glimpse of his terrifying mask, but nothing to fight with yet.

The menace in the mask chuckled softly when she didn't answer, tightening his grip around her throat and pressing the serrated blade further into her flesh. Michonne was struggling, trying to pull air into her lungs, desperately fighting not to lose consciousness. He let her struggle for a moment before finally pressing so hard against her with the knife's edge that she felt sure he'd punctured skin. She growled in pain, going still as her eyes rolled around the shelves, searching.

"Oh you don't wanna tussle with _me_ , sweetheart." He drawled lazily. "I could end you any number o'ways. Cut you." He pressed deeper. Michonne felt a tear sprout in her eye and roll down her cheek at the sensation of the searing pinpoint of pain growing wider and deeper. He was going to reach bone if he pressed any more. "Snap your pretty neck." He squeezed her neck, his strong arm pressing into her throat, completely cutting off her airway. "You name it, darlin'. Now…" And he squeezed harder, causing her to go limp. "Where might you be keepin' that sweet little boy of yours, huh?"

He was asking about Andre. Fuck, fuck, fuck - _FUCK. Negan knew about Andre._

The masked kid suddenly hoisted her up in his grip, lifting her feet from the ground. Michonne's mind reeled. She caught sight of a syringe in a canister full of them on the shelf in front of her. One of the big ones they used for spinal taps. Her air was gone. Spots danced across her vision. She was gonna black out any moment. She needed that syringe.

" _Answer me._ And I'll play nice, I promise." He loosened his grip on her throat as a good faith gesture, and Michonne found herself on her feet again, gulping in huge intakes of air to the sound of his quiet chuckling. "Better?"

"F-fuck you!" She managed to elbow him hard in the stomach, catching him off guard so he released her throat. Michonne wasted no time kicking him as hard as she could in his shin - then she heaved with all her might and lunged for the shelf, grabbing hold of the syringe and twisting her body around to attack him with it when she'd caught hold of it.

Michonne managed to twist enough in the tight space to face him, her feet tangling with his, and she jabbed the needle downward without a second thought. It stabbed through the plastic sealant and landed into his mask, sticking there. He growled, lifting his rigged bowie knife and lunging it at her, but Michonne ducked in time to avoid it puncturing her skull clean through.

Instead it landed in a loud crash among the shelves of medical supplies - sending them raining down on them both as they 'tussled' in the small closet space.

He lunged at her with the knife a few times more, and she swore he was trying to take her head off. Each time, Michonne threw whatever she could grab from the shelves at him, dodging his attacks. Bottles of pills, oxygen masks, plastic-wrapped valves and intubator tubes, gauze rolls, a bedpan - anything. He stumbled back against the objects flying toward him, but he was still blocking her way. When she tried to pound the syringe further into his mask with the bedpan, he stabbed through it with his bowie knife, again narrowly missing her face. Michonne slipped down to the floor, scrambling to crawl through his legs to the door.

He ripped the syringe from his mask and grabbed her by the locs, slamming her back against a shelf before she made it. She hit her back, neck, and skull against the hard steel shelving. The pain ricocheted through her like a bomb and she finally blacked out.

The kid in the mask stood above her, cracking his neck, breathing hard. His bowie knife slid back into its rig with a soft click. And then he heard:

"Michonne…?"

He straightened up like an arrow, tensing. Listening. Someone was coming.

He'd bet anything it was the steely-eyed cowboy his target walked in here with earlier. And the big tree stump F.B.I. agent probably wasn't far behind him. He could take them both, easy. Then come back for his feisty little playmate. He wasn't nearly done with her yet.

The kid grinned beneath his mask. This was gonna be fun.

* * *

Rick watched Michonne's blinking ellipses on the text message screen linger without resolving itself into a reply.

He stood in the hallway near the nurses' station, staring down at his phone screen, waiting.

It had only been a couple of minutes, but for Rick it was far too long an interval without a reply. And that ellipses just kept blinking.

"What's taking her so long…?" He muttered to himself, just as Dr. Weaver came limping back into his view, followed by a gurney with a very bloody patient on it and a couple of paramedics, including Sasha. But no Michonne.

Maggie rushed over to help while Rick continued to watch out for any signs of Michonne. He tucked his phone back into his jeans as his eyes scanned the hallway. On a slightly uneasy hunch, he took a few steps in the direction he'd seen her going with Dr. Weaver earlier. The same direction as the kid with the hoodie.

"Heads up." Tobin said solemnly to Rick, also eyeing Dr. Weaver curiously as she followed the melee headed toward a trauma room in the opposite direction.

"She's there, so where's Michonne?" Rick exchanged looks with him.

"'Hoodie' hasn't come back this way yet, either." Tobin confirmed.

"There's a medical stockroom down that hallway there," supplied an LPN who'd been picking up some blood work (but also curiously observing the stabby neighbor he'd heard so much about). "Michonne's usually in there when she's not on the floor. Oh, and cell reception is kinda crappy in this part of the hospital. You might not get that text for an hour. Sorry."

"Thanks." Rick immediately headed for the hallway where both Michonne and the hooded kid had disappeared earlier, Tobin close on his heels.

He craned his head this way and that, checking rooms for signs of Michonne - or the kid. They passed a few occupied beds with intubated or sleeping patients and then more empty hallway. Still no sign of either of them.

They rounded a corner, and found the hall deserted down here too. There was something in the air.

Something was wrong.

"I'm on your point." Tobin muttered quietly, his eyes scanning the hallway shrewdly. He moved into position to back Rick up should anything go down.

The fingers of his good hand itching to wrap around his gun handle, Rick nodded and kept his keen eyes peeled.

There was a pinkish glow coming from a doorway that was ajar at the end of the hall. There were...sounds coming from it, he could make out as they got closer and closer. Sounds of struggle.

Rick froze, immediately signaling Tobin, who had noticed it too, and reached for his weapon.

The two men split the hall, one on either side, and began to slowly approach the door where the sounds were coming from. "Michonne…?" Rick called warily, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end.

Nothing. The noises had stopped.

The sudden silence caused Rick's heart to jump into his throat. He raised his Python and turned his head slightly to give Tobin a meaningful glare. The tall agent was ready. He and Tobin began moving swiftly, but carefully, toward the door, fearing what they'd find.

Out came the kid in the hoodie before they even reached the supply closet, bathed in pinkish light.

"Stop!" Tobin barked. "Don't _move!_ "

"Where's Michonne?" Rick growled, not surprised in the least, anger pumping through his veins.

The kid turned his head to look at them, breathing hard.

Rick narrowed his eyes at the stiff, white mask he was now wearing, complete with cut out 'X's for eyes and a slit the width of a knife's blade for a mouth. And a hole in the cheek the size of a large needle point.

At first, they all stood stone still in the empty hallway.

Then the tinny sound of squeaky wheels approached them as a janitor pushed a large garbage can around the corner behind the kid. The disruption pulled Rick's eye's from the terrifying white mask for a mere second - enough time for the kid to begin pulling something out of the inside of his hoodie.

His movements were so fast they blurred as he used both hands to throw whatever it was right at them.

"What the _fuck…_!?" The janitor ducked, bewildered and suddenly terrified even though he wasn't in the line of fire. Yet.

Whatever the hooded kid was throwing at them - quick as lightning - were spiked, sharp, and deadly. They glinted under the dim florescents as they sailed through the air, one after the other, and landed near Rick's skull - then Tobin's. One of them took out a light fixture, sending it swinging with an electrified crash into the wall. Another dinged off a cluster of chairs in the hallway. The last one caught Tobin in the thigh and he buckled to his knees with a surprised, pain-filled grunt.

Rick had no time to register the disbelief he felt at what he'd just seen - he ducked and shot.

His bullet ricocheted off the janitor's garbage can and hit the wall. The janitor dove for cover. Cries of alarm rang out in the halls behind them. Rick shot again, running and ducking as the steel throwing stars kept coming, trying to get close enough to tackle the hooded fucker.

Tobin laid down cover fire as Rick dove for the kid. He was met with a swift kick to the chest, throwing him back against the wall.

From this vantage point, his chest feeling as though it had exploded, he could see into the medicine closet.

Michonne was sunk onto her butt on the floor, slumped against a shelf, knocked out cold. At first he was gutted - fearing she could be dead - until he saw her chest rising and falling with her breathing.

He had no time to get closer. Tobin had gotten to his feet and was sparring now with the kid, doing his best to hold his own as they ping-ponged off the walls with each other.

Tobin was strong and skilled, but the kid was slippery, nimble, and _quick_. He jabbed Tobin in the ribs and stomach, switched footing, and kicked him in the chin before he could recover, sending him flying back again.

The kid kept attacking.

Rick blocked another kick to the face, his gun falling to the floor. He was then kicked in the stomach, but he recovered and dodged another lunge to the face - this time with a huge, serrated bowie knife that also seemed like it came out of nowhere. The knife plunged into the wall as Rick ducked out of the way and grabbed one of the chairs to his left.

He swung it around _hard_ , knocking the kid back into the wall at the end of the hall by the janitor.

A sweating, kneeling Tobin fired again, bullets blowing big holes into the wall around the kid's head. One of the shots nicked the kid in the shoulder and he stumbled backward again. But within seconds he'd shaken off the pain enough to get to his feet, dashing away out of sight as the janitor cowered behind the garbage can.

"Oh my god! _They're shooting!_ Get security…!" Someone was shouting. "Call the police!"

Rick tore his eyes from Michonne and got up, stalking over to retrieve his gun. "Call for backup and _stay with her!_ " He ordered Tobin, who had reached the closet where Michonne was slowly rising from her painful head bump.

"Andre…" she muttered as Tobin tended to her, her eyes flickering open frantically. Rick had no time to pause, as badly as he wanted to. He had to get that fuckin' kid.

He heard the heavy footfalls of security guards headed his way as he followed the kid around the corner. He spotted the black, hooded figure zig-zagging around confused, terrified staff members and patients to his left. He couldn't get a clean shot at this angle with how fast the kid was darting around.

Rick took off after him, following the same maze of scattering bystanders until he slipped around a corner and saw an exit door clicking shut. No other sign of the kid in sight.

Rick held his weapon at the ready and slipped through the exit door after him. He was in a stairwell now, with soft fluorescent light making shadows everywhere. He heard footsteps above him and stepped out to look upward - the black hooded figure in the formless white mask streaked into his view and he followed after him as fast as his booted feet would carry him.

"Stop _now_ or I'll blow your goddamned head off!"

Rick aimed and fired when he got a clear enough shot just as another throwing star came slicing through the air toward him. He ducked out of the way, shot again, and kept running, his chest pounding, sweat sprouting and collecting at his hairline.

 _You're gonna run outta those fuckin' stars, soon, asshole_...he thought angrily as he forced his legs to keep climbing, ignoring the pain in his lungs from the workout. He hoped that would happen before he ran out of bullets, which would also be very soon.

He began to see streaks of blood splattering the wall as he ascended, probably from that gunshot of Tobin's to the shoulder earlier.

Rick paused, breathing hard, listening. The footsteps had stopped, but he didn't hear a door opening. He estimated the kid was now just one floor above him, and above that was the exit to the roof. Wondering if he'd managed to wound the motherfucker after all, the ex cop waited in the silence.

Below him, the door to the floor he'd been on with Michonne banged open and two security guards poured through it, giving the kid the chance to make a run for it.

"STOP!" Rick shouted, firing twice more at the streak of black he caught sight of through the spaces between the stairs. His gun clicked. _Shit._

"Hey! Grady Security, _hold your fire!_ "

Rick ignored the guards as he dashed up the concrete stairs two at a time, his heart pounding, his anger boiling. Adrenaline pumped through him as he threw open the door to the top floor.

He was met with the bright sun and oppressive Georgia heat - then another kick, this time to the throat.

He buckled over, feeling like he'd been stabbed there, coughing and wheezing, gasping for breath.

The attacks came like lightning bolts. A fist to the ribs, then the ear, then a swift kick across the legs and he was swept off his feet - landing him on his back. The air rushed out of him as his eyes blinked up to register the rapidly approaching, black bug body of a helicopter in the sky above him. And then Rick's injured ear clicked and his head was filled with the loud drumming of the propeller blades chopping at the air, just before the kid's boot came down toward his face.

He got his fists up and blocked the attack before the boot could break his nose.

The mele swelled all at once.

Giant swirls of air beat around them from the landing helicopter. The clamoring footsteps of the two security guards chasing them crescendoed and they were now spilling through the doorway.

The hooded kid took off toward the edge of the roof, away from everyone.

Rick heard the unmistakable sound of Carol's voice calling from the deafening whir of the helicopter as it landed on the roof: "Federal agents - _freeze_ or we'll shoot!"

The kid ignored them, raising his arm and firing something from another hideaway gadget. Whatever it was shot a black rope across the divide between their roof and the roof of the next building in the cluster of hospital wards along this stretch of city block.

It anchored into a wall in the distance - the kid kept running at full pelt.

Inside the helicopter, wearing mic'd headphones, glaring through the windshield at the escaping assailant, Carol nodded sharply at Daryl.

Daryl stepped out of the helicopter just as the kid jumped - using the rope to propel himself to the next building. The stoic special agent raised his giant sniper rifle in his hands, anchored against his shoulder, and looked calmly through the scope. He caught the kid in his sights and aimed. Then he fired.

The kid went down like a sack of potatoes just as he was preparing to slip through the exit door of the next building.

"Got 'im." Daryl confirmed, spitting to the ground and lowering his weapon while the helicopter was powering down.

Rick fell back again on the landing pad, aching all over, relief flooding through him. He closed his eyes and breathed, listening to the sounds of chaos all around him as Carol identified herself and shouted orders to the security guards.

Some seconds later, a shadow loomed over him. Rick opened his eyes to find her there with her partner, blocking out the glaring sunlight, squinting down at him seriously.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Grimes. Where's Michonne?"

* * *

Michonne winced as Maggie pressed the cold compress to her skull. " _Ouch._ Your bedside manner sucks."

"Bite me." Maggie retorted, allowing her to take it herself and gently tending to Michonne's small cut on the left side of her ribcage. "You're lucky you don't have a concussion. You scared the _shit_ out of us, Michonne…"

"I'm fine. Where's Rick?" Michonne had been carted off and quarantined in a small examination room by a wounded but still standing Tobin. Now he was nowhere to be found. She hadn't seen Rick since she came to in the supply closet. He had glared at her with alarm and worry before charging after the guy with the mask. She winced again as Maggie cleaned her cut, her ribs aching and her head pounding. There was a lump developing back there. Great.

"Outside, surrounded by vultures…" Maggie replied absentmindedly as she swabbed Michonne's skin.

"Be more specific, Maggie."

She was sitting on a bed, her shirt had been removed and she was wearing nothing but her bra to cover the top of her. Her cell phone was gone. Probably still on the floor in the supply closet. The room was empty but for her and Maggie. No Tobin. No Carol. No Rick.

The pretty young brunette sighed hard and paused her work, blowing a lock of short brown hair out of her eyes. She was hiding the worry churning inside her for her best friend behind ragged stoicism. Finally, she softened, answering Michonne's question honestly.

"The Chief of Police is here, there's a bunch of cops and F.B.I. agents everywhere, Dr. Weaver is _furious_ \- and some guy in a mask got wheeled in here with a pretty nasty G.S.W. to the back. Now will you let me fix up this cut? And you have some answers to give of your _own_ , you know..."

"Fuck." Michonne grunted, ignoring Maggie's demands, impatient to get out of this room. She needed to know what the hell was going on out there. Everything had happened so fast - and Andre. _That guy was after Andre._ She needed to tell Carol. She needed to find Rick. _She needed to call her son._ "I gotta get out of here."

"Not before I suture this cut, Michonne." Maggie's green eyes were laser-focused on the deep cut in Michonne's ribcage. " _Please?_ You'll get your answers soon, just let me do this…" Michonne paused to see that tears were glistening in Maggie's eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to hide her face from her friend behind her mop of brown hair. She had been really worried - and there was probably some modicum of guilt swirling around in there.

"Maggie...look at me." Michonne sighed slowly and waited until Maggie's eyes met hers again. "I'm _fine_. Really. I'm just worried about my son. He's in danger. He's more important than me right now."

Maggie nodded, wiping her face and taking a deep breath. "I'll be faster than in nursin' school, promise."

Michonne nodded patiently, and allowed Maggie to treat her wound. She tapped her foot against the railing of the hospital bed as the seconds ticked by - but Maggie kept her promise and got finished fast.

When she was patched up, Maggie helped her into her shirt and took a deep breath as Michonne gave her a quick, appreciative kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. I'm okay…"

"I know. You always are. Go on. That guy Rick is worried sick about you." She squeezed Michonne's hands and let her go, tucking her hair behind her ears as she followed.

Michonne rushed from the room, her ribs aching but her focus aimed solely on finding Rick and Carol.

She was met with a mob of people, all turning to watch as she emerged with Maggie on her heels. The chaos had calmed but things were still buzzing, and it seemed that everyone had been waiting for her.

There was half the nursing staff, a handful of cops, Sasha looking tense and pensive, biting her thumbnail. Daryl, Tobin and a few other agents. A squat, bullish-looking man with tortoiseshell eye glasses and a stern face standing with Carol, Dr. Weaver - and Rick.

At the sight of his intense blue eyes and grim, handsome face, Michonne felt relief flood her from her scalp to her feet. They both paused and stared at each other across the sea of faces. Michonne let her worry and overwhelming fear for Andre show in her eyes. Rick took a step toward her, but Sasha got to her first.

" _Michonne!_ Oh my god, you scared the hell out of me." Sasha wrapped Michonne in a tight embrace that sent pain shooting through her, but she returned the hug. "Are you _okay?_ They wouldn't tell us what happened."

Michonne allowed Sasha to release her, her eyes still on a hesitating Rick. "I'm fine, Sash. It all happened pretty fast. I'm still not sure... _what_ that was."

"You were fuckin' _attacked_ _under the F.B.I.'s watch_ , that's what happened." Sasha hissed, her eyes darting to Tobin. Tobin swallowed hard and stood up straighter, frowning but not remarking on her harsh accusation.

"Hey. It's okay. I went off by myself, it was no one's fault. Now, I'll fill you in later, I promise." Michonne tore her eyes away from Rick for long enough to reassure her other best friend quietly. "But right now I _need_ to talk to Rick and Carol."

Sasha clenched her jaw but nodded tersely. Her radio buzzed. She had a call, but she didn't want to go. She gave Michonne another pensive hug, stroking her face and looking into her eyes. "Do what you gotta do. I love you, okay? _I'll be back._ " Finally, she began to back away, mouthing to Maggie and Michonne that they _would_ talk later.

Michonne gave her a grim, appreciative smile and finally began making her way toward Rick.

He'd been hesitating, not wishing to intrude on her moment with her friend, but he'd been burning to get to her across the floor full of people. She looked shaken up, but her eyes held a fiery urgency in them that alarmed him. He'd been replaying that moment she uttered her son's name in that closet (looking as though she'd just fought for her life) in his head since he saw her there.

Rick and Michonne stepped toward each other, ignoring everyone else, and he immediately wrapped his strong arms around her in the middle of the floor by the nurses' station.

Michonne reached up to clutch at his shirt, melting against him, so relieved that he'd been there.

He reached up to take her gently by the cheek, his thumb stroking her lips as he leaned his forehead against hers. He gripped her belt just above her ass with his other hand, heart thundering in his sore chest.

"I shouldn'ta let you outta my sight." He whispered hoarsely, his throat still sore from that kick on the roof.

Michonne found his lips and kissed him, his scent and strong presence comforting her. Rick clutched at her and she responded in kind, digging her nails into the fabric of his shirt. His hold on her caused her a little pain in her side, but she ignored it, simply glad that he'd survived the fight with yet another man who tried to kill her. "You saved my life again, cowboy…" she told him softly.

She'd wanted him to smile, but Rick only stared at her with hard, cold determination darkening his crystal blue eyes. "He was after Andre."

Michonne nodded, releasing him. "Yes. Carol…"

She stepped back and reluctantly left Rick's embrace, heading for Carol. Carol reached out for her, still standing among Dr. Weaver and the squat man with the spiky, greying hair and stern eyes obscured by his spectacles. Michonne recognized him as the Chief of Police, Chief Jefferson Hatfield.

She refocused on Carol, who took her hand and pulled her into the fold. Rick stood behind them, listening.

So did most of the people around. Though they went about their business - the cops questioning witnesses, the F.B.I. standing like mute sentinels guarding the area, the staff transporting patients to another ward while trying to eavesdrop at the same time.

"Michonne. Listen to me. _Hey._ Andre is _safe._ " Carol cut her off before she could let everything she'd heard from the masked man spill from her mouth like a waterfall. Lowering her voice so that her next words were just for Michonne, she reported quietly: "He's tucked away, surrounded by an entire team. Eyes everywhere. _No one_ knows where but us. _No one_ goes in or out. You can call him as soon as we're done here."

Michonne stood shaking for a beat, her hands secured firmly in Carol's, before nodding mutely. She blew out a slow, calming breath. "He asked me about 'the boy', Carol." She whispered to her friend and federal agent.

"I know. He's upstairs. Daryl shot him. He might not make it." Carol informed her stoically. "We're searching this place for any others. It's not great, but it's not as bad as it could've been."

"Ah - _that is not exactly comforting_ , Agent Peletier." Dr. Weaver's high-pitched voice interrupted sternly. "The Lone Ranger here and that...masked... _ninja assassin_ scared the pants off my entire trauma ward!" She jabbed her chin in Rick's direction. "There are bullet holes all over my halls, _near my patients_. Someone could've gotten seriously injured, or _worse_." She rambled angrily, now turning her ire on both Carol and the chief. "I've had _six_ calls from the board in the last thirty minutes, worried that family members and press are gonna start picketing the place, and _none of you have the gall_ to tell me what the hell is going on here."

"Dr. Weaver - " Carol began, but Kerry cut her off.

"Unless you have answers as to why my best surgeon is operating on a knife-wielding assassin, Agent Peletier, we're done talking. Chief?" Kerry turned her sharp gaze on Chief Hatfield, who had been rocking on his feet with his hands in his pockets, looking angrier and angrier at Rick by the second. "Are _you_ going to tell me what I'm supposed to report to my superiors? My staff? The fucking _press?_ "

"Kerry…" Michonne muttered, preparing to pull her to the side and explain everything. She felt Rick's fingers sliding into hers until their palms met. He was suddenly standing beside her, protectively pulling her closer.

Dr. Weaver shook her head tersely at Michonne. "How about you, Michonne? Do _you_ have any answers for me? I'm really sorry about what happened to you, but you gotta throw me a bone, here."

"With all due respect, Dr. Weaver…" Chief Hatfield spoke up finally, his genteel southern accent causing the petite, crutched woman to grimace and turn to him sharply. Michonne felt Rick bristle as the chief's cold grey eyes rose to meet his. "Perhaps we oughtta turn to our friend Mr. Grimes here for those answers we all need so badly. He's such a... _keen_ investigator. Trouble finds you no matter where you are, I'm startin' to take it personally, Mr. Grimes."

"What?" Michonne scoffed. "Rick had nothing to do with this. He saved my life - _again_."

"It's all right, Michonne…" Rick rasped quietly, glaring coldly at the police chief.

"No, ' _with all due respect'_ , what the hell are you talking about, Chief?" Michonne ignored him, also glaring at the chief.

The austere man shrugged, still eyeing Rick. "Mr. Grimes has a bit of a reputation downtown, maybe you weren't aware. He's been a thorn in the Atlanta P.D.'s side since he arrived here in our fair city. _Well outside_ of anyone's good graces, I might add. If I were you, Miss Williamson...I'd steer far clear."

Carol sighed hard, fed up with this territorial bullshit.

She pulled rank, stepping into the fold to take over the conversation. "Chief Hatfield, Dr. Weaver - with me, please." She jerked her head toward the sealed off, battered hallway without waiting for their responses. "Michonne, stay put. I'll be right back."

Michonne tried to protest, but Carol didn't wait for her to speak again. Rick's hand held fast to hers and he whispered: "It's okay. She's got it."

Together they watched the trio of officials duck the yellow caution tape sealing off the hallway and disappear to 'chat' about their fate. Daryl sauntered over after them, sticking close to his partner.

Michonne was still annoyed with the chief (and Kerry) and she did not like being ordered around one bit, by anybody. Not when her son's safety was in serious question. She needed her cell phone, but there was no telling who had it, now that the scene of her attack had been quarantined.

She turned to look up at Rick. "What do we do, now? Did anyone talk to Andre?"

Rick nodded, holding her close, rubbing her arm soothingly. He was buzzing with worry and residual anger, but he kept his focus on Michonne. She had been attacked, but she didn't seem to notice. He would watch and wait, though he was prepared to believe her when she said she was alright - for now. He didn't want to relive the raging fear he'd felt when he couldn't find her, and when he saw her slumped over in that supply closet.

"They made it to the lake house in Fresno. There are six guys watchin' 'em. Sabine knows you're okay but she didn't wanna tell him what happened." Rick sighed hard, now massaging tiny circles into her hip. He put a little pressure there, his serious blue eyes trained on her pensive brown ones, trying to ascertain what she was thinking. "What do you need, Michonne?"

Michonne swallowed, processing this new information for a beat. Andre was safe. Sabine was watching him, and he was still under the impression that his mother was okay back home. Good. She and Sabine butted heads constantly, but on this they agreed finally. Michonne didn't want to frighten or worry her innocent little boy any more than was strictly necessary.

Fighting off a surge of guilt and anger, Michonne looked into Rick's safe blue eyes again.

"What happened to the fucker that attacked me?"

He hesitated, watching her, not sure he liked where she was going with this. "Daryl shot him in the back, like Carol said. She's been keepin' everything else close to the vest - that was the most she's said about anythin' since she got here. I've been followin' her lead."

Michonne nodded, thinking. No wonder Dr. Weaver was furious. She remembered what Kerry had said about her best surgeon operating on the masked attacker. That meant he was upstairs on the O.R. floor, and she knew exactly what surgeon Kerry was talking about.

"I need to know if he'll survive, Rick. If he can answer any questions. I need to know what the fuck Negan _wants_." She gripped his shirt, searching his eyes for support.

Rick considered her, his jaw clenching. He didn't like this. But he was curious himself. And he was just as angry.

Besides - he wasn't about to make the mistake of letting Michonne wander out of his line of sight again now that she was back at his side.

He figured he'd deal with the chief when they were done. He knew no amount of smooth-talking by Carol would pluck out the thorn Rick had apparently deposited into the man's side by moving here.

"Alright." He gave in with a short nod. "Let's make this quick."

* * *

"There won't be any press conferences, or police investigation on this one." Carol informed Dr. Weaver and Chief Hatfield while Daryl oversaw their team documenting the scene of the attack.

Kerry scoffed and shook her head in disbelief as the chief turned sharply from watching one of the agents bag a cell phone he found on the floor of the closet. "I beg pardon?" He demanded.

Carol regarded them both coolly.

"You heard me. This is _not_ a public facing case, nor is it an excuse for you to exorcise some bullshit personal vendetta, Chief." His face turned beet red and he fumed, but she ignored him, now shifting her cool focus on Dr. Weaver. "If we agree that the safety of your staff and patients is our number one priority, then you'll be happy to know that once my team is done here - we're _done_ here. Michonne is on an indefinite leave of absence. We'll be out of you and your board's hair."

Kerry stared at her with steely-eyed resistance for a moment. "And what about the _thug_ upstairs in my O.R.?"

Carol gave her an equally steely smile. "We'll have him transferred as soon as your Dr. Romano gives us the go ahead. Easy-peasy."

Kerry limped an inch forward, her height and Carol's only off by a hair's breadth. "I don't know what the hell Michonne is involved in, but you people had better get your shit together. If that guy on that operating table upstairs can get to her so easily here, who's to say a leave of absence will do her any good?"

Carol nodded slowly, thinking that Dr. Weaver was starting to sound like Sabine. And she agreed, but she had a contingency plan for that. One with a particularly thick southern accent and a pair of intense blue eyes. Michonne had been right about Carol - she knew an asset when she saw one.

These people had no idea what she was working with. That she was partially bluffing. Her boss was an asshole, and her entire department still held her drastic tactics to extract Michonne and bring Negan's empire down five years ago against her. They were all counting on her to fail, or to bungle this up so badly that some asshole ten years her junior would get his chance to step in and show her up. It was no accident, her and Daryl being banished to the purgatory of bullshit investment fraud cases before this. She was short staffed, short budgeted, and short of patience. She needed to get something to nail Negan or figure out his real plans before it was too late, and she was running out of time. She could feel it.

But she endured, jumping in for one more round with Atlanta's 'finest'.

"We have our ways."

"You can't just make a mess all over my city without a goddamned warrant, Peletier." Hatfield growled. "And as for my 'bullshit personal vendetta', well this jurisdiction thing works both ways. Gimme one good reason I shouldn't haul Grimes' ass downtown and _make_ this a public facing case!"

Carol scoffed, frowning at him patiently. "Sure, I'll give you two: one, he's with me. And two...just how many missing girls did your boys lose track of in the last few years?" He glared at her, blinking hard, looking as though he wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. But she could tell he didn't like it. "You really want my department looking any deeper there? I think you're lucky Rick Grimes requires sleep at night, or you'd be up shit's creek with picketing family members, yourself, chief."

Kerry's eyebrows rose to the top of her spectacles but she only regarded the chief and the F.B.I. agent's silent standoff with keen interest.

Chief Hatfield finally relented. "You've got twenty-four hours to bring me a warrant, agent. And then I think I _will_ put in a call to your dear boss at the bureau."

Daryl finally interrupted them to show Carol the bagged cell phone. "Hey. Think this is Michonne's."

Carol nodded her thanks and took the bag. Dr. Weaver was being paged over the all-call system suddenly, and they were asking her to the O.R. floor.

They all looked up to listen, and then turned to Kerry. "Well...looks like your perp is out of surgery. Let's go see Dr. Romano, shall we?"

She began to limp toward the elevators on this side of the floor and the three of them followed her.

* * *

Michonne and Rick stood in a back corner of the south side of the O.R. wing, watching Dr. Romano operate through a window set into the blue brick wall.

She stood rigidly, her arms folded across her chest, glaring through the window at the unconscious kid who'd attacked her. Whispered teasingly in her ear about cutting her and snapping her neck. She could blame him, but this was Negan. He was toying with her, and now he knew about their son. Michonne felt sick with dread. She had no idea what was going to happen next.

Rick stood silently beside her, his strong presence radiating protectiveness, watchfulness. He observed her reflection in the window from the harsh operating lamp as the doctor's cap and mask covered face bent over his patient in concentration.

He turned his eyes from her reflection to land on her real face. "He might not wake up for days, Michonne." He told her gently. She nodded silently, still staring at him, her eyes glistening. "If he even does at all."

He had a sudden flash of memory from the last (and one of the only) time he got shot in the line of fire. He'd been in a coma for two months. It had been recovering from that coma, and the monumental stress Lori had been under while Rick had been slipping on and off the spectrum for weeks, that initially put a strain on their marriage.

"I know." She finally answered, sighing. "I don't know why I came up here. I guess I just had to see."

But now she suddenly didn't want to. She wanted to hear her son's voice. She needed her cell phone. Rick watched as she turned from the window and drifted aimlessly out into the main hall again, feeling sick and hollow in her stomach. It was a familiar feeling...one she used to get when she was with Negan.

Dread, fear, anxiety. It was all rushing back. She had _sacrificed_ to keep her child out of that man's reach, and now, he was using Andre to ensnare her in some twisted, sick scheme again. God, this was too much.

"I'm scared, Rick." She admitted, whispering to no one, her back turned to Rick as she faced the empty, bleak hall of the O.R. floor.

Rick stepped up to her quickly, turning her around and pulling her close.

"I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere." She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and listening to his low, firm voice. Letting it ease away the hollow ache in her stomach. "Let's go get your cell phone and call your son. You need to hear his voice."

Rick had been a parent, once upon a time. He knew how she was probably feeling, and he knew the only cure was contact - even if it could only be over the phone for now. He and Carol were on the same page; it was dangerous for Michonne to go charging to Fresno, potentially leading Negan's people right to Andre.

"Okay. You're right. I do." Michonne nodded, stepping back and allowing him to take her hand so she could follow him to the elevator and back downstairs.

They heard the all-call as they were walking, and Michonne stopped in her tracks. She turned to see Dr. Romano wiping his hands on a sterile towel, his mask now off as he stood by the nurses' desk at the end of the hall.

"Dr. Romano!" She called, letting Rick's hand go and rushing toward him. He followed after her with a frown.

Dr. Robert Romano turned his bald head underneath his surgical cap and sighed hard, crossing his arms and fixing Michonne with an unaffected look as she made her way over to him. "Miiiiss Williamsoooon…" the short, freckled surgeon sang blandly, as though he was the most unentertained game show announcer that ever lived. "How good of you to harass us. I see you've recovered from that nasty bump. What can I do for you? Make it quick, I'm a busy man."

Michonne took a deep breath, ignoring his usually bad-tempered 'sense of humor'. He was a brilliant surgeon, but he was a downright asshole, and he was less cordial the lower you were on the totem pole here at Grady. Nurses didn't have it as terribly as the orderlies and security guards. Michonne had set his attitude with her straight a couple of times, so he wasn't ever quite as mean to her as he could be. Still...he could never help himself and was usually registering at a steady 'Oscar The Grouch'. It seemed that today's events caused absolutely no change on that front.

"The man who attacked me," Michonne wasted no time mincing words. "Will _he_ recover?"

Dr. Romano's demeanor softened a bit when she confronted him head on with his arrogance toward a victim of an attack. He gazed at her sympathetically, blinking back his sarcasm. "I think we ought to wait for Dr. Weaver, Miss Williamson, okay? She'll be up in a sec. I'll fill you in on all the gory details in due time, promise. And...hey, I'm sorry you got attacked on my turf, kiddo." He added genuinely, to her surprise, giving her an awkward wink. "But I heard you've got some moves…" his eyes drifted over to Rick and he scoffed in amusement at the other man's rigid demeanor. "Annnd a personal bodyguard. Does Officer Friendly have a name?"

Michonne glared, impatient. Rick simply watched Dr. Romano coolly. He had a name, but he wasn't going to be giving it to this asshole. Officer Friendly it would be, until the doc gave Rick a reason to make his name something he'd never forget.

"Officer Friendly's with Michonne - what do you have for me, Robert?" Dr. Weaver's voice sounded from behind them. She was limping toward them from the elevators down the hall, closely followed by the chief, Carol, and Daryl.

"Jesus, you brought a studio audience?" Dr. Romano barked, rubbing his brows irritably. "You know what, Kerry? I don't have time for this circus freakshow."

"We'll be glad to move the circus out of town as soon as you tell us what we want to hear, Doctor." Carol replied, stepping up to stand close to Michonne. She gave Rick an appreciative nod and her longtime friend a gentle hand squeeze of support. "Can he be transferred?"

His audience waiting, Dr. Romano eyed Carol stonily for a beat before turning to Dr. Weaver. Kerry merely nodded for him to go on. "Sure. Be my guest. But not anytime soon. He's got a pretty nasty fluid buildup in his spinal canal, from whatever genius shot him on the roof."

Carol frowned at Daryl, who rolled his eyes but said nothing as he listened to the doc.

"I extracted the bullet fragments and did what I could to repair the damage, but there's a lot of pressure from all the swelling, and there will be some scarring...but you guys could give a crap, right? You wanna know if he'll wake up and start talking."

He gave them a grim smile as he shook his head, just as some surgical assistants were wheeling the patient in question out of the operating room to transport him to a private, secured room.

The short, bald man sighed, and his eyes found Michonne's.

"The answer is not likely - not right now, maybe not ever. I don't know. He's slipping into a state of unconsciousness that won't wear off with the anesthesia. This kid seems pretty strong, so I'm optimistic, but honestly? He's lucky to be alive." He took stock of the testy expressions facing him. "Or...maybe not so lucky. None of my bee's wax. If you'll excuse me, I have a patient to attend to and a golf lesson to reschedule. Chief. Good to see ya. Love to Maddie and the boys."

"Obliged, Doctor." The chief acknowledged thoughtfully, observing the perp on the gurney curiously.

Michonne couldn't help her eyes drifting to land on the attacker's face as he lay there, unconscious. Without his hoodie, his knife or his terrifying mask - the kid looked like a fucking cherub, as most murderous, psycho white boys did apparently, his wispy blond facial hair hardly doing a thing to dispel that notion. There was a cut in his cheek where her needle had got him in the closet. At the same time as she wanted to torture him until he gave up every nasty surprise Negan had in store for her, she hoped he would never wake from that coma.

Dr. Romano walked away, turning to take over wheeling the gurney toward the room around the corner. Again, his eyes met Michonne's with something like empathy as he left the group alone to ponder his prognosis.

Dr. Weaver sighed, checking her watch. She too was ready to get the show on the road. She was behind on everything, and the stress of this entire mess was something she'd be glad to get off her plate, at least temporarily. "Listen, I'm sure your team is going to do whatever it wants with this guy once he leaves here," she addressed Carol. "But while he's under my roof, we treat him humanely and watch him around the clock, are we understood?"

"Of course." Carol assured her. "We'll be in touch."

"Yeah, I'll bet you will." Kerry nodded with an acerbic grin before limping over to Michonne. "Hey. My offer still stands. Call me. Any time. Me and Sandy will be waiting if you need anything." She gave Rick a quick, silent assessment and then a conciliatory nod. "Thanks for looking out for her. Good day, folks. Get out of my hospital. You and your boys too, chief."

With that she limped away, her white lab coat flying backward in the wind of her quick movement.

The chief stepped up to Rick without waiting for anyone else. Rick shifted on his feet, his jaw clenching as a steady stream of patience escaped his nostrils. They stared each other down.

"I _am_ sorry that you were so brutally attacked, Miss Williamson, I truly am." He offered in his soft-spoken Southern twang. "But if you're gonna be associated with men like this, well just consider yourself warned: _Stay out of the kitchen_ , boys and girls. The Atlanta Police Department is not in the business of turnin' a blind eye to vigilantes." He was speaking to Michonne, but they both knew he meant every word for Rick. "Y'all enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Twenty-four hours, agent Peletier."

Rick watched the man go, knowing that he was going to have to be very, very careful from here on out. He couldn't say for sure at all right now, but he wouldn't put it past the chief to have something to hide. Maybe something that connected him to the case his 'boys' had bungled so badly.

Michonne turned to find Carol handing over a plastic evidence bag with her cell phone in it.

She took the bag, tears flooding her eyes, and leaned in for a long, safe hug from her friend. "Carol. Thank you…"

Rick and Daryl watched empathetically as the two women embraced.

Michonne allowed her nerves to calm down again and took a deep breath before stepping back. Carol looked her in the eyes, reaching up to wipe away a tear from her soft cheek. "Look at me, Michonne." She began a familiar routine, one she hadn't had to employ for almost six years.

Michonne finally looked at her.

"It's not gonna be like last time." She paused, aware of their audience but knowing that the two men could be trusted. "We're close. We know more about what he's after, now. Do you believe me?"

Carol always asked Michonne that, and Michonne always said yes. It had been hard to at times, but ultimately the older, wiser woman always kept her promises. So, she nodded this time - like all those times before in their long, storied friendship.

"Good. Stick close to Rick. Call your son. I'll be in touch as soon as I know more."

"What about _him?_ " Michonne jerked her chin in the direction that the masked menace had been wheeled.

"We have no choice. We wait. See if we can dig up something to interrogate him with when he finally does come to." Carol informed her matter-of-factly. Then her keen silver-blue eyes rose to Rick. "Mr. Grimes. Got a minute? We haven't had our chat yet."

Rick did not want to leave Michonne.

Carol saw the look of protectiveness - and with it, if they 'stopped being polite and started getting real', _possessiveness_ \- swirling deep in those electric blue storm clouds of his. She wasn't a stranger to those feelings at all. Especially not when it came to Michonne Williamson. More than just valuable assets, Special Agent Carol Peletier knew a kindred spirit when she saw one. Man or woman.

She told him what he wanted to hear: "We'll drop Michonne off with Tobin - and Aaron. They have their orders. Let's talk on the roof, my chopper's waiting. We're headed to Riker's next. This has been quite the detour."

"Never a dull fuckn' moment in this town…" Daryl deadpanned as they headed for the elevators.

* * *

Tobin and his partner Aaron reported that their team had found no other assailants in their search of the entire hospital block, including a further four-block radius around the cluster of buildings.

Carol told them to stay with Michonne and took Rick up to the roof. She had disappeared into the same empty examination room, now guarded by _two_ federal agents, to call Andre in privacy.

Rick nodded to a wounded but still standing Tobin, now having established a professional rapport with the man when they teamed up to defend Michonne. He could now say he'd survived being assaulted by throwing stars with the man, if nothing else.

On the roof, where the sunlight had only gotten stronger and the heat more oppressive, Carol stood at the edge staring down at the spot where Daryl had tagged the would-be assassin.

She held her hands in her pockets as Rick stared with her, waiting for her to get whatever it was she wanted from him off her chest.

Finally, she turned to look at him under the bright sun. "I need your help, Rick."

He nodded, squinting over into her wintery eyes. "I had a feelin'. If it's to do with Michonne, you don't have to ask."

Carol smirked. Of course she didn't. She called 'em like she saw 'em. "I've read up on you." She continued seriously. He knew 'read up' meant she had done some digging, likely into his past - into everything he'd been doing since he arrived in Atlanta, too. "I'm sorry about what happened to your family. I lost a daughter myself. That's a special kind of... _terrible_ pain."

Rick swallowed thickly, accepting her empathy, filing away her confession about _her_ past. He was beginning to understand - and trust - Carol a lot more. He was also starting to get the feeling she cared about Michonne a lot more than was expressly apparent to most people. Rick wasn't most people. Neither was Michonne.

"And I find it pretty impressive that you've managed to channel all that pain into a cause, sort of. Your work with those missing girls cases our good friend Chief Hatfield screwed up has largely gone unrewarded, but it doesn't have to stay that way." Rick shifted on his feet, turning to face her fully, squinting against the sun, his ribs aching a bit. "You're smart. You're _good_. And you and I both _know_ that Negan isn't finished yet. I find this whole thing a bit distracting, don't you?"

He tilted his head, thinking he was onto what she was getting at. "Yeah. A bit. What's on your mind?"

"He may be angry with Michonne." Carol shrugged and looked off into the distance again. Her cool demeanor never failed to impress Rick. "He may even be trying to take his son back. But with Negan, there is always something big and ugly at the bottom of the well. So."

She turned back to him, smiling somewhat casually.

"Daryl and I are going to find the monster and kill it. In the meantime, I need someone like you to do what you do best: Find the bad guys he's got lined up to terrorize his ex. Find out his next move. Give me the time I need to stop him for good. He knows Michonne, but he has no idea about you. Let's keep it that way. Tag team from both ends, see what we come up with. And _don't take your eyes off of Michonne_. Think you can handle that?"

She suspected he had already gotten started. The stoic widower stood contemplating her request for a beat.

"Why me?" He hedged.

Carol fixed him with a look. "I think I'd be able to recognize the look in your eyes whenever they're on Michonne from _space_ , Mr. Grimes…" she told him, causing him to swallow uneasily. "I know that look. And I know you've probably had your eyes on Michonne for quite a while, now. That's reason enough to make trouble for you. But you're useful to me and you're someone she needs right now." Her steely smile grew wider. "Whether she realizes that or not. Michonne has...an affect on people. She's an alluring, strong, incredible woman. What they call 'a dame to kill for' in old black and white movies. Let's hope we don't have to on this one, huh? Been there. Done that."

"I will. If I have to." Rick declared. Carol nodded, but said nothing. She knew that already. Her new ally sighed and began to walk with her to the helicopter, where Daryl was shouting instructions to their pilot, readying them for takeoff. "But I need your help on somethin', too."

Carol paused, hearing him out.

"There's a case I'm workin' on right now. Missing girl, Amy Jones. I think she's connected to the ones I was investigating back in King County," he told her, knowing she'd done her research and would recognize the cases he was referring to. She nodded, confirming his hope. "I think I can find her - alive, possibly. Maybe find out what happened to the others. But I need backup."

Carol thought about it for a beat, then gave him her word. "You bring me hard proof, and a suspect, and I'll give you all the resources I can. In the meantime, let's keep in touch."

They shook on it, and Carol ducked into the helicopter. Daryl and Rick exchanged their by now customary nods and the big redneck climbed into the chopper after his partner.

Rick stepped back up to the door and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh beams of sunlight caught in the propellor blades as he watched them lift off.

He stood on the rooftop, watching the chopper disappear in the distance, and found determination welling up inside of him. He was going to do things the right way this time.

Michonne was waiting. It was time to get to work.

* * *

 **Next up:**

 **Amy, The Master, Shade/The Beast..**

 **Rick and Michonne engage in a little buddy cop adventure to visit The Bullet Man...**

 **Carol comes face to face with Negan Wolfe, and he reminds her what protecting Michonne costs the people she cares about...**

 **BONUS: This isn't the last you've seen of The Kid. ;)**


	14. the bullet man, part i

**A/N:**

 **LOL I have to mention, I saw your comments about Rick's shooting, and it's funny b/c I had this next scene in my outline and debated on whether or not to include it. But oh well!**

 **I can only say: I did get extremely excited about making The Kid a badass, and I may have done that at the expense of our hero. Won't happen again. I look at every chapter as a class in storytelling, and your feedback is very, very important. Thank you. Lesson learned. Onward!**

* * *

 _back against that wall of ours_

 _with the strength of a will and a cause_

 _you have proved to be_

 _a real human being_

 _and a real hero_

-'A Real Hero', College

* * *

"Fishing, huh?" Michonne's lips quirked into a smile.

She listened to her son's somewhat bored voice over the phone, enormous relief flooding her from head to toe. He was bored and alive and still safe.

Andre paused to shrug probably, knowing him. "Yeah. Spencer's teaching me. Sorry - Agent Monroe. Anyway, it's something to do."

"Where's your aunt?" Michonne frowned, not really comfortable with Andre being out on a lake without Sabine. "Are you wearing a life jacket?" Andre could swim, but Michonne was on edge.

"Yes ma'am she made me put one on. She's watching, from that big deck thing." Andre confirmed, and His mother was relieved again. Then he added with amusement: "But I'll bet she's _really_ flirting with that other agent, Mike. He looks like he could be on ' _Law and Order'_..."

Michonne suppressed a snort at her sister's expense. With all her nagging, it seemed her brittle older sister had caught whatever was in the summer heat. As long as Sabine was keeping an eye on Andre and he was safe with a federal agent, she wouldn't complain. Yet. "Well, she's...earned it, probably, kiddo."

Andre paused again, and when he spoke next, he asked: "Where's Rick? Are you with him? Can I say hey?"

She was floored, and touched, at Andre's enthusiasm. She was also not surprised that he'd picked up on how much his mother liked their neighbor (and visa versa). So this must mean he approved. He was excited. Michonne didn't want to wonder how long that would last.

She didn't want to think about how Andre's affection toward her, his trust in her, could turn once he found out about his father. With everything happening...with this morning's terrifying revelation that Negan knew about their son...she could no longer deny to herself that Andre would find out the truth eventually. She hoped it could come from her. But there was no knowing when, or how, it would finally all come to light.

Michonne felt like time had simultaneously stopped and accelerated. It had only been a couple of days, but almost everything she had carefully set in place to ensure her and her child's freedom had unraveled in the blink of an eye.

She tried not to let this realization crush her. "Rick's around, but he's working. I'll tell him you said hey, okay?"

"Okay." Andre sounded disappointed but he brightened again seconds later. "I love you, Ma. I gotta go. Spencer says I need to concentrate if I wanna catch something worth my time, whatever that means."

Michonne chuckled, wiping away errant tears. "Okay, go catch a big one. I love you, too, peanut. Stay safe. I'll see you soon...I promise."

She felt that hollow ache in her stomach again when she heard him hang up the call.

Michonne pressed her phone into her palm, biting her thumb nail, staring through the blinds at the cluster of hospital buildings and the street below. _What the hell was she gonna do now?_

"Michonne."

At the sound of his voice, Michonne turned to find Rick standing in the doorway to the examination room. He was gazing at her intensely, as usual, his fingers flexing at his sides.

"Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah. Andre says hey. He's fishing."

She paused as he softened hearing the news, and she couldn't resist the pull of him. The sight of him strong and stoic in the doorway. Those deep blue eyes sparkling and those plush, pink lips pursed in concentration. The sunlight cascading faintly through the blinds bathed him in warm light that seemed to reveal every inch of him to her. He just wanted to make sure she was okay. It was written all over him, in his eyes and body language, and in his voice when he spoke. It was foreign to her, and surreal. But so, _so_ attractive. She needed to be close to him.

Their agreement to just go wherever their mutual feelings for each other took them had unleashed something inside of Michonne that had been dormant and silent for a long time. Acting on it now felt like the most natural thing in the world, and she didn't think she could help giving in to that pull if she tried.

When she reached Rick, Michonne gave in to every emotion she'd been feeling since that kid attacked her. The fight, the worry, the desperation to get away from him. It all rushed through her at once as she wrapped her hands around his neck and leaned against him.

Rick enclosed her in a protective embrace, remaining silent as she cried it out.

He had suspected what happened to her would hit her suddenly, and it wasn't surprising to see that finally talking to her son had done it.

"You wanna get outta here?" He asked her softly when her tears finally eased off, his lips brushing her cheek.

Michonne nodded against his shoulder. "God yes."

Without hesitation, Rick stepped back and took Michonne by the hand, not bothered in the slightest to get her clear of this hospital. The morning's events made him hate them even more, of that he was certain.

Tobin and Aaron were waiting for them as Rick and Michonne made their way out of the room. They all waited while Michonne gave Maggie a tight hug and promised to call her and Sasha later. "You keep your eye on her. Or so help me…" Maggie commanded to all three men, her arms crossed. The relative cheerfulness of her peach nurse's uniform contradicted her serious expression.

Rick simply gave her a firm nod and waited for Michonne to join his side again.

In the elevator, Aaron dutifully took watch of the floor numbers while Michonne stayed closed to Rick.

Tobin turned his head, standing on Rick's other side, his chin beginning to bruise from the kick to the face he'd taken earlier. "That won't happen again, Mr. Grimes. Miss Williamson. You have my word."

"Call me Rick. And he was no regular kid off the street." The ex cop countered, meeting Tobin's gaze man to man. "He was skilled. Fast. He was prepared for a fight. I was lucky to get a clean shot with him dartin' around like that, and even then..." Rick winced, remembering that kick to the throat.

"You think we can find out more about him? Maybe something could lead us to some answers." Michonne spoke up, her slender, cool fingers snugly interlaced with Rick's strong, warm ones.

Rick and Tobin regarded her as the elevator dinged on the first floor, where the triage area for the Emergency Care ward lay.

"No harm in doin' some digging." He answered as they made it out into the parking garage. "I've already got a man inside, like I said. I'll give him a call once we get you home."

Michonne felt her stomach lurch, and she tugged on his hand, getting him to slow his steps. Tobin and Aaron broke off to retrieve their vehicle, parked a few spaces down from Rick's truck. Their eyes scanned the area as they went, leaving Rick and Michonne alone by the passenger side door of the Bronco.

She shook her head at him as he stepped up to her. He frowned, gazing down into her pensive eyes. "I don't want to go back there right now, Rick."

Rick's crystal blues flickered across her face. He wanted to give her what she needed - but he _didn't_ think she needed to be trying to run from her emotions right now. Still, he also couldn't bring himself to impose his will on her so callously without at least hearing her out.

"It'll drive me crazy if I go back there right now, you know?"

He listened, thinking of the duffle bag in her closet and the secret in her trunk.

Rick didn't want to let her out of his sight. Taking her home seemed just as dangerous as having her out in the open, however. He had work to do but he was also feeling riled up and affected by what had just occurred, himself.

His gaze slipped to Michonne's lips, his hand still gripping hers firmly.

"Alright." He relented, giving her a soft, sweet kiss, an idea forming in his head. He backed up and opened the door for her. "Get in. Gimme a minute."

Michonne nodded gratefully, a small, relieved smile gracing her shapely lips as she moved to do what he asked. His blue eyes followed her as she climbed in and he closed the door behind her. Michonne watched through the rear view mirror as Rick jogged over to the F.B.I. unit where Aaron and Tobin had pulled up behind them.

He knocked on the window and Aaron rolled it down. It was also his turn to drive. Rick leaned in a little, leveling with the two gentlemen. "Change of plans. Miss Williamson doesn't wanna go back to her house just yet."

Aaron and Tobin exchanged glances. "I'm...not sure that's advised, sir." Aaron responded seriously.

Rick nodded, appreciating his dutifulness. "Me, either. But I had an idea."

"What's that, Rick?" Tobin asked, curious.

He offered them a slow grin. "What d'you boys say we go shoot up shome shit?"

Yet again, the two stoic agents exchanged looks. "We're in." Tobin confirmed, his gaze returning to Rick's appreciatively.

Rick nodded and gave the side of the car a couple of knocks. "Good. I know just the place. Follow me."

He was smiling when he got into the Bronco, to Michonne's pleasant surprise. She watched him buckle in and start the truck up, noticing that her favorite radio station was still on when he turned up the music a little. He still hadn't said anything when he backed out and led Tobin and Aaron around the bend and out of the parking garage.

"What's that look? Where are we going?" She asked softly, wanting to kiss him.

Rick's salt and pepper stubble shined in the sunlight as he glanced over at her with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. "We're goin' to let off some steam, like you wanted to earlier. Now's as good a time as any."

Michonne felt that hollow ache in her stomach melt to an exhilarated hum as she watched her handsome, fascinating neighbor maneuver his truck through traffic. A short while later, they were pulling into the parking lot of the Quick Shot Gun Range, a few clicks from downtown.

She _did_ kiss him before they climbed out of the Bronco, already feeling better.

The stress of her grim reality turned into boiling determination as they walked into the dim, cool establishment, followed closely by Tobin and Aaron.

There were rows and rows of guns of all types on display on the walls, and bullets and other, smaller weapons in display cases on all sides. Along with certificates and press writeups and photos of famous NRA members. There was a promo for the Marines playing on mute on a flat screen television mounted on the wall above the customer service counter.

Michonne walked around, feeling a heavy sense of home settle in her bones as she ran her fingers along the glass counter tops. Rick eyed her for a beat before stepping up to the counter to buy them all an hour in the target range. The clerk at the desk also eyed the tall drink of shapely chocolate milkshake in the tight, high-waisted denim jeans and white tank top.

Rick glared at him until he ripped his gaze from Michonne's lovely, Atlanta-fed backside and rung up his total for bullets and two rows in the range. Though he didn't utter a word as he handed over his credit card, his jaw clenched, his eyes clearly said ' _she's mine.'_

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Rick was watching Michonne shoot in the seventh row. The sound of firing boomed and echoed all around them, dulled by their bright orange ear plugs. The burning metallic smell of gun smoke and bullet residue filled his nose but he kept his focus on Michonne. She stood with her right leg slightly jutted, her back straight, her graceful shoulders glistening with a light sheen of sweat as she aimed and shot a small but powerful, army-gold Springfield. He saw her bullets puncturing holes around and inside the second and third rings of the target. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she paused to reload, then took aim again.

Michonne saw the face of the kid behind that ugly, twisted mask as she fired over and over again until her gun clicked. The holes were getting closer and closer to the bull's eye.

Rick tried not to let the sight of Michonne's skills and incredible body manifest in his jeans. Aaron and Tobin switched places as Tobin finished emptying his clip. They had both taken their suit jackets off and rolled their sleeves up, their brows sweating.

Tobin was limping but he looked satisfied as he nodded appreciatively in Rick's direction again. Aaron started firing as Michonne turned to face Rick. He gave her an impressed smile. "Good aim." He told her, stepping forward to take his turn. "I like your follow through, too."

Michonne smirked, finally feeling confident in herself for the first time in a hot second.

"Thanks." She took her time letting him by, her eyes drifting downward to unabashedly catalog his lean muscles through his cream button-down. His tanned forearms were also lightly dusted with perspiration from their couple of rounds of target practice so far.

She looked up at his lips again as he sauntered around her, his Python gripped firmly in his strong hand at his side. She was eager to watch him shoot again, so Michonne released him from her gaze and stepped back, crossing her arms. Rick gave her a small smirk and turned to take his stance at the firing post.

Something she'd noticed right away - and immediately liked - was that he fired with one hand, usually with his head tilted slightly to aim better. The cut of his lean body mesmerized her as he fired the big gun at the target slowly and purposefully. He got what he was aiming for almost every time, his jaw clenched with steely focus. His last shot hit dead center, and Rick relaxed again, pulling his pistol back with satisfaction.

Michonne had been right. That _had_ felt good. Even as a deputy, he tried not to fire his weapon very often. These days, however, he found himself willing to shoot - and shoot to kill - if he had to. For Michonne. Carol was right...she was 'a dame to kill for'.

She gave him slow, impressed applause. Rick turned to see her brown eyes sparkling. He stood reloading for a moment, another unignorable idea forming in his head. He got the bullets loaded and spun the chamber closed again with a heavy, metallic click.

"You wanna try him out?" He drawled as the other shooters around them kept on, leaning back on his feet, challenging her. Damn, he looked sexy holding that gun.

"You serious?" Michonne raised an eyebrow as his words registered, her heartbeat quickening at the exciting prospect of firing his Python. She watched him lift his hand holding the pistol up to her, offering it. He was serious.

"Come on. I know you're not shy." He tilted his head at her, looking nothing but fuckable as he drew her toward him again with his moonstone tractor beams. She rolled her eyes at him, but she came without another word.

Michonne took the Python from him, its weight and heat feeling even more intimidating than the first time she held it. And empowering.

Rick felt himself getting excited as he stepped aside for her at the firing post. He stood close to her, reaching up to help her aim properly. She felt his warm, strong fingers wrapping around hers, his muscular arm raising with hers as he adjusted the target sight for her. His other hand landed gently on her hip so he could turn her slightly to the side. She felt his breath sending electrified eddies of sensation along her neck and shoulders as he practically molded himself to her, showing her how he fired by helping her place her feet properly.

Swallowing down a fierce surge of arousal for their proximity, her scent, and how alluring she was, Rick tried to concentrate on getting her ready and letting her do her thing. But he couldn't help his focus also zeroing in on the perspiration making her practically glow...the fiery determination in her mesmerizing eyes as she squinted through the target sight in his .357 Magnum...her cleavage rising and falling from the valley of her tanktop. He gazed at her gorgeous profile, and those beautiful lips, hardening inside his jeans.

He squeezed her hip as his bulge brushed against her backside, tilting his head to see more of her face.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Michonne found her breathing going shallow and her nipples sprouting to attention as Rick leaned in closer and tightened his grip on her hand, pressing the hammer spur back. When he spoke next, in a low, husky drawl, Michonne fought off the urge to grind her ass into what she knew was an oncoming hard-on. She forced herself to concentrate on what he was telling her.

"Now just breathe and fire. The Colt'll take care of the rest."

He stepped back, almost reluctantly, and watched. She felt his intense gaze on her as she did exactly as he instructed. She breathed, and she fired. Growing more and more confident - and angry - with each shot.

 _BOOM._ The kid's mask.

 _BOOM._ Negan's smug, grinning face.

 _BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM._ _Click._

Rick watched Michonne lower her arm with a renewed wave of attraction to her that hit him like one of those kill shots she'd just fired. Then his gaze zeroed in on the target paper as it came reeling toward them. The head and half the right shoulder were practically torn to shreds from six, angry bullets.

Damn. She looked good with his gun. _And_ she was a good shot. He considered it a done deal.

The more he discovered about Michonne, the harder he fell.

* * *

Though still serious and vigilant, the two F.B.I. agents were noticeably perkier when they exited the place and got into their vehicle again.

Rick sat in his front seat in the parking lot now, torn. He'd just gotten a text from Morgan. The reclusive polymath was ready for him. He had to go to work. The pit stop at the Quick Shot had felt damned good (so had seeing her fire his Python), but it hadn't resolved the fact that he still didn't want to leave Michonne. In fact, it had only made that feeling worse.

"Rick?"

He looked over to see her gazing at him, still glowing from the shooting and getting to handle his big, sexy gun. Unable to stop herself, Michonne unlatched her seatbelt and began climbing across the seats toward him. Rick remained silent, frowning in surprise as she opened her legs and straddled him in the roomy, worn-in driver's seat, bending her knees so she could settle into his lap.

His hands immediately left the steering wheel and they roamed along her shapely thighs to latch onto her backside from underneath it. Even folded up in his lap with the steering wheel at her back, she was as graceful as a crane or a bird of prey - and he was her lunch.

Michonne sighed and leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest in the warm front seat of the Bronco. She kissed his pink lips, losing herself in his scent and strong grip. Rick's abdomen tightened and he clutched at her, exhaling sharply against her soft skin as he remembered how sexy she looked eviscerating the head of that target with his pistol. Their tongues danced as she sank herself further in his lap, seeking out his bulge.

"Take me with you." She whispered as she took kisses from him softly, slowly, instantly arousing him. "Please?"

"It could be dangerous, Michonne…" Rick grunted, frowning hard, trying not to rip her tank top off and kiss his way down to one of her breasts to suck on for _his_ lunch.

"Not with _you_." She countered, moving her hips against his slightly, causing him to swallow and pull her into him. He wanted to fuck her. Right now. He didn't care who might be watching. She wasn't making it easy for him to resist the urge at all. "And I can help. You're going to see a guy about guns? I know guns, baby, remember?" She continued, her nipples still hard and sensitive underneath the thin white cotton. She kept going as she watched his eyes darken with lust. "I don't want to be shut inside my house alone all day again. _I'm_ dangerous when I'm left alone while I'm scared, Rick."

Rick felt like he was going to break his jaw when Michonne ground her hips gain, stroking his length to hard steel, trapped between her thighs and imprisoned in his jeans.

"So you're either going to have to _fuck_ it out of me right here in this truck..." He almost lost it when she licked his fuzzy chin and pressed her hard nipples into his chest. His dick twitched under her weight, practically bouncing her in his lap. He was getting harder and harder from her voice alone. Finally, she eased up, leaning back to stare into his prismatic blues again, a wicked gleam in her deep browns. "Or you're going to have to take me with you. Okay?"

He glared at her for a beat, powerless, his jaw still jagged as stone. Then he leaned forward, gripping her ass harder in his big hands and taking another slow kiss from her delicious lips.

He sucked on them for a few indulgent turns before growling against her mouth: "Okay. If you promise not to wander off again. Told you, I'm not lettin' you outta my sight."

"Promise." She readily agreed when he kneaded her flesh with his fingers, grinding her against him in retaliation for her teasing. She hissed and her panties grew damp while Rick covered her with soft, damp kisses along her neck and collarbone, causing her to ache for his dick.

"Now get your sexy ass behind a seat belt, before I fuck you anyway."

She smiled against his lips, kissing him again before doing as he'd huskily commanded. She had a mind to call his bluff (she was so wet for him it was ridiculous) but she didn't want to give Aaron and Tobin any more of a show than they'd probably already caught.

Rick watched her glide from his lap back into her own seat, riled up again but trying to contain it.

He allowed his pursed, thoroughly worked lips to slide up into a crooked grin as he continued to glare at Michonne with a mixture of amusement, adoration, and lust. He was still sore in the chest and throat, still angry with Negan and every man with a mind to hurt her or Andre - but he was also still utterly enamored with her.

He shook his head slightly at her as she buckled in and straightened herself up. She was gorgeous, fierce, sexy, and nothin' but trouble.

Rick started up the Bronco, turning on the AC to drive away his erection with practiced nonchalance, and got them out of the parking lot onto the road. The F.B.I. vehicle followed them easily as Rick headed for Greenbriar, and The Bullet Man, Morgan Jones.

"You _do_ know guns. I could tell that as soon as we got in there." He remarked, remembering how confident and cool she looked handling the guns (and his) at the range. He tried to concentrate on the road instead of stealing looks at her every chance he could now. He was talking partially because what she'd said had sparked an instant intrigue, and partially to distract himself from his overwhelming attraction to her. "I remember you mentionin' your dad was the one who taught you how to shoot. He was in the army, right?"

Michonne reached over and turned up her radio station again, just enough to feel the music without it disturbing their conversation. She was also trying to push aside her need for Rick, still hyper aware of his sturdy, stoic presence beside her.

"Yeah. My dad kind of took me under his wing. And when I was with Negan…" she sighed hard, running a hand through her locs to get them out of her face so the AC could dry the sticky perspiration still clinging to her skin. "Well, it was kind of an obsession for him. _Us_ , I guess I should say." She shrugged, remembering her past as if it was a bad taste in her mouth. "We collected. We always carried."

Rick did glance over at her with a mixture of grim empathy and righteous anger as she continued recounting details about her old life. Michonne scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"He bought me this ridiculous little handgun to keep in my purses." Her eyes darkened as Rick's Bronco smoothly maneuvered traffic through town. "But I never used one on _him_ , like I should have so many times over all those years…"

"Did you love him?" Rick couldn't help the question from slipping from his lips. He concentrated on the road, trying not to make her feel like he was prying. "You don't have to answer."

Michonne turned to watch his profile shift and sway under the roaming sunlight as clouds periodically blocked it from view. "I did, in the beginning. I would've done anything for him."

Rick didn't say anything, processing the information while allowing her to get things off her chest without a bunch of meaningless input from him. She took a deep breath and turned back to watch the scenery.

"I'll make you a deal, Rick." She began, her tone more confident this time. "I'll help you with your case since you're helping me with mine." She was watching the cars around them move along, changing lanes and going wherever. None the wiser about her current predicament. "I love Carol, and I trust her with my life - but I can't just sit around in my house and wait. That's not me. She _knows_ it's not." Michonne turned back to give him an amused look. "I'll bet she told you to babysit me, didn't she? Make sure I don't do anything 'stupid'? Like running?"

Rick frowned, taking his eyes off the road again as they slowed down for a red traffic light.

"She asked for my help findin' out who else is comin' after you, and _why_. But she didn't have to." He reached over and took her hand. "I'm not doin' it for her. I'm doin' for _you_ , Michonne. I'd do it whether anyone asked me to or not."

He wanted to tell her. That he planned on taking his time getting to know her after this. That now they'd started, he didn't want to stop, not for any foreseeable future that he could come up with. But it was way too soon to lay something like that on her. Now wasn't the time and this wasn't the situation. He was determined to _make_ it the right situation, however, as soon as he could. First, that meant seeing her clear of danger.

Michonne gazed at him, feeling herself comforted and so charmed by him that she hoped he would stick around for a while. A long, long while. She didn't know now if she could face all this without him. Not without completely succumbing to the dark, desperate whims of her old self.

Carol had barely managed to stop her from doing something drastic the last time she faced Negan's terrorism.

"So let me help _you_." She insisted, squeezing his hand as the light changed and they got moving again. "Tell me about your case. Come on, I wanna help."

Rick had to take his eyes off of her as they got onto Langford Parkway, which would carry them to Greenbriar.

He was silent, feeling dubious for a moment. He didn't want to get her mixed up in any more dangerous, complicated situations than she was already in. But also - there was his need to keep his eyes on her, to keep her within his reach.

He sighed, gripping the wheel with one hand as he reached over and popped the glove compartment. Amy's files were inside, along with some of his notes on his separate investigation so far. Michonne frowned curiously, reaching over to remove them from the compartment.

She slid them into her lap and opened the top folder, greeted with Amy's yearbook picture.

"Amy Jones. She's been missing for a little over a year. I got the case a couple of days ago." Rick began as Michonne flipped through the file. She read the initial report on her disappearance. It was disturbing to say the least. Michonne fought off a chill as Rick continued: "Her sister Andrea, she's a lawyer - she thinks this was no ordinary sex trade. I think she's right. The _way_ Amy was taken. It doesn't add up."

He glanced over at Michonne as she looked at the photographs he'd taken of the personal items found in Amy's car. Along with the screen grab of the black, shadowy monster truck streaking by a traffic cam, and the strange bullet holes he'd captured up close.

"In fact, I think it's a coverup."

Michonne listened, examining the bullet holes. She had never seen anything like them before. Rick prepared to deliver his heaviest piece of information, watching for her reaction as much as he could while still keeping an eye on the road.

"But that's not even the complicated part."

She looked up at him, tearing her eyes from the fascinating photos to latch onto his pensive expression.

"What's the complicated part?"

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the wheel. "The plates I spotted on that truck belonged to one of the victims of the case I was workin' on back in King County. Rosita Espinosa."

Michonne let this information sink in. Wow. He was right - it _was_ complicated. She determined to help him. She needed to.

The Bronco rolled smoothly along the expressway, the music humming and vibing in the speakers as she felt empathy and a kindred purpose well up inside her for him. He was such a lone wolf. Such a dark, troubled soul. But he was also sweet, and open, and good. Someone to trust. To believe in.

Someone who needed her as much as she needed him.

"I'm sorry, Rick…" She offered, reaching over to caress his hand affectionately.

"It's okay." He gave her hand a squeeze across the steering wheel. "I'm just glad you're in my truck right now." His lips folded up into a sad, but warm smile. "I don't usually have company while I'm workin'. It's...nice." He wanted to add ' _because it's you'_ but he didn't know how she would take that.

Michonne shook her head slowly, her empathy intensifying as the early afternoon sunlight danced across her gorgeous skin. "It must've felt pretty lonely trying to solve such a brutal case for so long without an arrest to show for it."

Rick swallowed, concentrating on the road. "Sometimes. I had my partner Shane and a whole sheriff's department backin' me up, but...I took the lead. I took the _responsibility_. I let everyone down."

His eyes narrowed and she could see him tensing, the memories of it probably assaulting him as he got into the lane for the exit they needed.

"Shane...is he the best friend you told me about? You mentioned him earlier. He was the one coaching Carl?"

Rick nodded. "That's him. I called him yesterday. He's not happy about it, but he's gonna help from his end back...back home."

Michonne wanted to kiss his face for the sadness clouding his expression now, but instead she took a deep breath and returned his nod. "Good. I'd love to meet him when this is all over with. But it looks like _I'm_ your new partner for now, cowboy. So...Rosita…"

The ex deputy glanced over at his 'new partner', unable to help a small smile as he turned them off at their exit. Tobin and Aaron were close behind.

"What d'you wanna know, rookie?" He drawled, the clouds lifting from his eyes. She was glad to make him smile again after bringing up bad memories for him, at least a little.

"Well, don't serial killers have...sort of a _modus operandi_? You know, things about their victims that they obsess over? Is she anything like Amy?"

Rick raised an eyebrow, intrigued. And in truth, starting to feel the familiar buzz he used to get when he worked a case. And she was right - he found himself wanting to break out the old case files from before, shed light on the whole ugly mess all over again, after so long of it bringing him nothing but bitter memories.

He sat up in his seat, seeing where she was going with her line of questioning.

"That's the thing - there were up to a dozen girls taken, we think. All different except for a few common traits. Obvious stuff. Smart, accomplished, beautiful, young.

"Rosita was athletic; a camp counselor. She had a big family. Big personality. She had _fight_ in her. The other girls came from all different backgrounds. Everythin' else is numbers."

It was all coming back to him as he spoke. How confusing it all was - nothing this guy did made sense.

At least, not the first time around.

"He killed them all?" Michonne frowned, thinking. She had a head for this already, he could tell.

They were cruising through the streets of Greenbriar, now, looking for Morgan's block.

"We didn't find them all, no. Only a few - three out of the eight he took in King County. Not in the order they were taken, either. The others just...disappeared."

"That's weird...what'd Shane think about that?"

Rick scoffed, remembering his old friend with a mixture of amusement and bitterness. "He thought the killer just had a hard-on for pretty young women, end o'story. 'All colors and stripes. A man likes what he likes. Even a crazy one,' he said."

Michonne suppressed an eye roll for Rick's sake, but couldn't help intoning: "He sounds like a real charmer."

Rick laughed outright this time as he finally turned onto Morgan's street. "Believe it or not, he always has been. Still is."

Michonne looked around, feeling a strong sense of nostalgia here. Greenbriar still seemed (mostly) intact, but her father had grown up near Sylvan Hills before it started to get gentrified and the old neighborhood was painted over for a new one. She remembered him driving her and Sabine through his old haunts sometimes when they were kids, showing them where he used to hang out, where he ran from bullies, played in the streets, got into trouble, got hounded and traumatized by cops.

She briefly wondered what kind of beat cop Rick would make. She couldn't picture him harassing young black kids without at least some kind of scruples to stay the kind of brutality Michonne had witnessed and heard described by her father. But then again, everyone's path was carved out for a reason. Maybe Rick wasn't meant to be a city cop on the prowl for 'thugs'. Maybe he was _meant_ to be exactly where he was - at her side, trying to find a clear path out of darkness again.

Rick finally pulled up to a modest little house nestled among a row of other modest little houses. This one was the only one shaded by big trees on the block. The lawn was sparse but well kept. There were rusting, red iron chairs on the porch - the kind Michonne remembered her grandparents having back in the day.

Curtains covered all the windows. Two cars were in the driveway, but they looked like they hadn't been driven since the eighties - or seventies, even.

There was loud rap music thumping from a car parked in a driveway two doors down with all the doors and the trunk open. A few guys wearing their shirts over their heads to cool themselves off from the sweltering heat stood milling about the candy-painted car, smoking blunts, talking shit, and drinking while they washed and tended to their prize.

They paused to watch the two unfamiliar cars pull up and park in front of The Bullet Man's little house.

They outright stared when Rick got out of his truck and opened the door to let Michonne out.

Rick noticed their audience and watched them watching Michonne get out of the Bronco. They weren't shy about appreciating her looks, or her...physical attributes. But they kept their distance. One of them, however, got curious. "Ay, homie - what y'all around here for? We don't know you."

"But we could _get_ to know you. At least that fine ass little lady you got with you." Another one added appreciatively, licking his lips at Michonne across the distance. He looked her up and down but gave her a cordial nod after that. "W'on you come holla at us for a minute, sweetie? You don't need those white boys. We got you."

"We're here to see The Bullet Man." Rick spoke up as Michonne followed him up Morgan's chipped concrete walkway, nipping the long distance flirting in the bud. He let his arm swing a little wider so they could get a look at his holstered weapon. "Name's Rick. Morgan's expectin' me." He kept moving, trying to contain his irritation in front of Michonne.

Normally he would be just fine by himself, but with her around he was on guard. The guys were harmless enough though, and Michonne didn't seem to mind (she even gave them a little wave as she glided up the walkway after him), so he let well enough alone.

"Aiight - you can go see The Bullet Man, he's friendly with white folks." The guy with the lips answered (as though Rick had asked for permission) before turning his attention back to Michonne. "But when you done, tell shorty to come hang. I'll roll you one, miss. Free of charge. You fine as hell..."

Michonne chuckled. They reminded her of some of the boys that hung around her house when she was a kid, always trying to get her to come outside. Sabine would always snitch.

"No thanks. But I appreciate the offer. Enjoy your afternoon, guys."

Aron and Tobin got out of their car, standing at attention silently as Rick and Michonne made it up to the porch. The guys by the car laughed and cracked jokes at their stoic, no-nonsense demeanor (not intimidated in the slightest) and went back to washing their car.

Rick gave Michonne an appreciative gaze of his own as she joined him on the porch. She looked good enough to abandon this job and drag her to the back seat of his Bronco so he could carefully peel her tight jeans off and bury his face between her damp thighs.

He shook off his arousal and rang the doorbell. They stared at each other while they waited, Rick leaning slightly to the side, his eyes sparkling. Michonne standing in front of the door, her hands tucked casually in her back pockets - only drawing more attention to her ass, to Rick's frustration.

Finally, the door opened.

It was dark inside, but it smelled like incense and coffee. The man that greeted them was a slight, bespectacled black man with kind, though haunted eyes and a very soft-spoken southern accent.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" He frowned pleasantly at Michonne before his eyes landed on Rick.

Rick gave Morgan a respectful nod in greeting. "Hey, Morgan. This is Michonne. She's...with me. Today." Rick didn't quite know how to describe her to his reclusive friend. He wanted to say it - that Michonne was with him, but he wasn't sure he could claim her so confidently now that he had to say it out loud.

Michonne noticed Rick's shyness and found it endearing. She liked the sound of what he'd said. She let him off the hook, offering the man a warm smile. "Hi. It's nice to meet you...Bullet Man?"

Morgan scoffed quietly, his wise, gentle aura reaching out to her, soothing her almost instantly. She liked his kind eyes. "That's just a nickname that stuck. Please, call me Morgan. And come on in."

"Much obliged, Morgan. We won't take up too much of your time."

"Nonsense, Rick." Morgan waved him off and turned around to walk them in, leaving the door open for them to close themselves. "I've been workin' on our case. I've got somethin' to show you."

Michonne boldly reached out and took Rick's hand as they crossed the threshold. He glanced at her in surprise, but gripped her palm and slender fingers firmly.

"Yes…" she whispered, watching him with stars in her eyes as he closed the door and they followed Morgan into his house, hand in hand. "I'm with you."

* * *

 **Part II coming soon!**  
 **I broke this up because (SURPRISE) it got quite long. But there's more with Morgan, The Beast, The Master, Amy - and finally Carol, Daryl and Negan coming up next!**

 **Your reviews this last round were fire! THANK YOU!**

 **-Kendra**


	15. the bullet man, part ii

**A/N:**

 **Gun stuff based on a little bit of research and a lotta bit of imagination. :)**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of..._

-'Rubberhead', Clint Martinez (Drive Soundtrack)

* * *

Nestled in the secluded town of Woodward Lake, deep in the heart of Fresno, California - Sabine and Andre were walled in on all sides by the F.B.I.

There were cameras and silent alarms everywhere, and a surveillance war room set up in the small boat house on the edge of the vast, pristine dark water. Six F.B.I. agents prowled the place, one of which was sitting silently next to Andre in a small white and blue Sun Dolphin about a yard from the dock at the back of the house.

The morning sun was perched serenely in the sky above them, passed over by clouds every now and then. The water was calm, almost hypnotizing. Andre's fishing line had gone undisturbed for almost fifteen minutes since he'd hung up with his mother.

Spencer allowed the boy his pensive silence. He knew that Andre really wasn't all that interested in lake fishing. He had been watching as they arrived and got set up back at the house. That Sabine woman was high-strung, bossy, and bending over backwards to convince Andre that they would have fun here.

It was kind of a sad, interesting display. Spencer had to give the kid credit. He was very patient with his aunt, and he put up a pretty brave, dutiful facade while she ran off a list of activities she'd planned for them. Spencer didn't spend much time around kids - he wasn't that type, as a rule. But this one wasn't too bad. He certainly didn't seem to favor his father much, except maybe in the smarts department.

Spencer watched the side of his face while he squinted down at his burner phone with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The kid poked around, examining its seemingly "ancient" technology (according to the whiz kid here, anyway). Mike had explained while masking his amusement earlier that it just looked like a regular black flip phone from back in the day because it was "off the grid".

But that was before he'd become distracted by Sabine. Spencer couldn't say for sure, but he thought there was a tiny spark between those two. Little whip smart Andre had certainly picked up on it.

At any rate, the distraction had given the young agent the chance he'd been waiting for to get the kid alone.

Now he was waiting for an opportunity to engage him beyond lessons in fishing and boating jargon. He'd been keenly listening to Andre's talk with his mother - the woman this was all for. In a way.

Hearing this conversation had confirmed a few things for Spencer, and it was time to have a little talk.

"I'm not seeing you watch out for bait fish, kid…"

Andre shrugged, examining the list of strange, unidentified numbers in the phone's simple interface.

"Well, what'd you expect? I'm a kid and it's 2017. _I use Snapchat._ For a kid like me, this is like watching trees grow." He sighed hard, sitting up straight and squinting over at the calm, collected agent in the sunglasses with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He paused, not wishing to get too upset, but he finally had to tell someone how frustrated he was. Spencer just listened. "Aunt Sabine's acting weird, I can't play my Switch without that stupid firewall thing, there's no cable, and we haven't caught _anything_ since we've been out here!" He gestured with exaggerated exasperation to the peaceful lake at large.

Spencer scoffed. "We've only been out here for about an hour, dude. That's just the foreplay, trust me. We've got all day out here."

Andre frowned at the word 'foreplay', making a mental note to look that up later. "Are you kidding? We'll starve." The agent outright laughed this time as the boat swayed and the young man intoned grumpily: "Or die of boredom…"

Dipping his head from side to side as he sighed, Spencer fixed him with a patient look behind his dark sunglasses. "So why don't you tell me what's _really_ bothering you, Andre?"

The nine-year-old let his hand fall to his side, his intelligent brown eyes drifting from Spencer's face to the lake house beyond, where he could see his Aunt Sabine talking quietly with that big Mike guy.

He shrugged again, clamping up all of a sudden.

Spencer leaned forward to rest his arms against his legs, locking the clutch for the motor of the boat to sit idle. "I know it can't just be you're annoyed with your aunt…"

"Nah, I'm just glad she's giving me a break for once. She hovers too much."

The lanky, clean cut agent let loose another scoff. "Yeah. I noticed. So what is it, then? You worried about your mom?"

After another pause in which he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it, Andre nodded. "She keeps telling me everything's okay, but _look_ at all this stuff." He gestured again to the secluded area at large. "It's just that...I hardly ever get to see her. We were supposed to spend the summer together. I should be hanging out with _her_ , not fishing with you." He grumbled. Then added begrudgingly: "Sorry," squinting up at his temporary babysitter again.

Spencer shook his head, not really all that fazed. "Hey, it's no sweat off my nose, kid. I get you. This is bullshit. I wouldn't be too happy, either."

Andre felt himself becoming emotional, and he clenched his small jaw. He didn't want to cry in front of a stranger. He decided to distract himself - and maybe get some information while he was at it.

All the adults around him seemed hell bent on keeping him in the dark. He knew his Ma had worked for the government a long time ago, before he was born, and she had a different identity. She was sort of a spy, that's what she'd always said. All his life, he had missed her, but he tried to be a good son and understand. He even thought it was kinda cool. Now, though, she was just a nurse and he was going to go to jr. high school soon. But still, all anybody ever told him was that it might be too dangerous to live with her permanently. Looking around him now, it didn't seem to matter one little bit who he lived with. His Ma was _still_ in danger. They were still being kept apart. It wasn't fair.

More than anything, Andre just wanted for the danger to be over so he could finally be with his mother.

Maybe if he knew what was really going on, he could somehow help Carol and her partner Daryl find the bad guys. He was smart, he paid attention. People underestimated that, just like Rick said. But Andre was determined.

He could help. He _knew_ it.

Spencer watched Andre thinking, wondering if they were getting on the same page finally.

"How much do you know about what's going on with your mom, Andre?"

Andre frowned. After a moment of silence in which the boat swayed gently in the water, he countered: "How much do _you?_ "

The agent smiled. Smart kid. "Fair enough."

He leaned back in the small driver's chair and crossed his arms. Where to begin?

"You ever heard the name Negan Wolfe?"

Andre's face was blank, and he shook his head. "Not before I heard Carol talking about him last night, I think."

Spencer nodded, unsurprised. His mother was a smart woman, too. Of course she wasn't gonna tell her kid anything about Mr. Wolfe. Maybe it was for the best at the time, but maybe she shouldn't have kept her son in the dark for this long. Otherwise this might be a lot harder.

"I figured as much. Listen, I could get into trouble for opening my big mouth." He baited the kid.

Andre immediately sat at attention. His eyes darted from Spencer to the deck in the distance, where Sabine was standing alone now, watching them with her hand shading her eyes.

"I won't tell, I promise."

After a moment in which the agent seemed to be making up his mind, he accept the nine-year-old's word.

"The bottom line is: Negan Wolfe is a very smart, very bad, _very_ powerful man." Spencer began, his voice dead serious. Andre got a slight chill, despite the pleasant warmth of the sun. "Your mother got mixed up with him before you were born. She saw things she shouldn't have. She probably _did_ some things she shouldn't have, too."

"Bad things?" Andre breathed, his heart pounding. He couldn't believe his mother would do anything terrible. Certainly nothing like how bad Spencer said this Negan man was.

A small, cool smile inched its way across Spencer's thin lips. "I dunno kid. That's up to you to find out. What I'm getting at is: all this security? All these agents hanging around, making your life miserable with our firewalls and fishing and keeping you from playing b-ball at home all summer?" He leaned forward more, his jaw clenched. "It's for a good fucking reason. Negan Wolfe is not the man to fuck with."

The young man frowned hard. This was the first time any adult had cursed at him directly. He remained silent as Spencer continued in a low, serious voice.

"Make no mistake. We're here to protect you from _him_ , not just them. He's got more up his sleeve than some thugs with switchblades and karate moves. Like I said, Andre...that's just foreplay." He shook his head slowly, that sly grin caught on his lips again. "They're nothing compared to what Mr. Wolfe can conjure up to hurt your mother...or you."

Feeling an uneasy hollowness in the pit of his stomach at the words 'Mr. Wolfe', Andre nodded in response. "Well, I wanna help, then." He frowned again. "How can I?"

Spencer leaned back in his seat, considering him. "You should try to quit complaining and do what the adults tell you, for starters. At least...while they're looking."

Andre's eyes narrowed, catching the overture in the agent's words. "What's _that_ mean?"

The young agent laughed. "Look, it's obvious you're not stupid, kid, alright? But before you go jumping into the fire, maybe you should do your research, that's all. Every good agent knows his stuff before he starts a mission."

"Where do I start…?"

Spencer smiled again. Now they were talking. "Start with the source, kid. Negan. And one more thing...I'm just curious."

"What?" Andre tilted his head at him. Spencer was weird. He seemed to like going against orders, giving a nine-and-a-half year old information he probably shouldn't be having. But at the moment, the boy was just glad he was getting it.

What he said next gave Andre serious pause.

"Anybody ever tell you what happened to your father? They ever talk about him?"

Feeling a little heated, his walls going up, Andre answered with a soft: "No. Not really. Just...they couldn't be together because he died."

Spencer's voice was gentler next. A little more empathetic. "Well, maybe you oughtta think about that. Because _I_ think you deserve to know more."

Andre _did_ think about that. And he thought about his mother - about how sad she'd been all these years.

Even though she was always telling him that everything was fine, sometimes the boy wondered if she was saying it for him or for herself. And whenever it came to his father, all Andre knew were very basic, very unsatisfying details. He didn't want to do anything that would bring harm to his mother. But he _did_ find the overwhelming desire for answers welling up inside him, and if he was honest with himself, he knew he'd been waiting to have them for a long time now. He'd hoped that spending time with his mother this summer would give them time to talk about the past, and she would tell stories about her spy days, and his dad. But that wasn't going to happen now.

Spencer was right.

"What's my father got to do with Negan Wolfe?" He finally answered with a question.

Yet again, Spencer shrugged, reaching over for the boat steer attached to the small engine.

"Maybe nothing, maybe a lot. You don't know, that's what matters. That's the whole point."

Finally, there was distinct tugging on both their fishing lines. The boy and his overpaid babysitter tended to their catch, then called it quits for the afternoon. Andre was getting hungry and truthfully exhausted by the flight, all the waiting around for them to secure the place, and reassuring everyone that he was fine, safe, and not about to run away.

Not to mention the conversation he'd just had that left him with far more questions than answers about what exactly he was doing out at a lake house in Fresno - instead of where he wanted to be, where he belonged. With his mom for the summer, getting to know Rick.

Spencer started the engine and drove the small fishing boat back to the dock at the back of the house, where Sabine was still watching from the deck.

She nodded in thanks to him as he took Andre's pack and rod off his hands for him. That was the most he'd gotten out of her all morning - she seemed to prefer communicating through Mike or Andre.

She raised an eyebrow at Spencer, her expression still somewhat stern, as though she disapproved of something he'd done that he failed to remember. "I see that wasn't a _complete_ waste of time."

He would scoff if he weren't afraid she'd slap him.

"No, ma'am. I guess it wasn't." That was pretty much the truth.

Andre tried to walk past his aunt and into the house without greeting her or showing her their catch, his head down, the expression on his young face pensive.

"Andre Anthony." Her deep voice sounded out harshly before his foot touched the threshold. Then she softened. "Explain that look on your face."

With a resigned huff of his small shoulders, Andre turned around and glared at her as angrily as he could without showing her the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He had also never disrespected his aunt outright before, and he was afraid if she prodded or hovered any further, he would burst.

"What look, Auntie?" He avoided her gaze, his watery eyes darting to a watchful Spencer and back again.

" _That_ look." Sabine turned to face him, sighing slowly. "You have to at least _try_ , Andre. This isn't easy for any of us. Least of all your mother."

"How would _you_ know?!" The kid finally had an outburst, his jaw still clenched and the anger churning through his chest hot and unruly. "You never let me see her! Every time I talk to her I can tell she's upset, but she never says anything because of _you!_ "

Sabine gaped at him, furious and saddened and shocked and guilty. "That is _not true_ , Andre. I told you, I would _never_ intentionally keep you from Michonne - "

"But you _do_. And all you do is fuss at her." He gritted, wiping his face harshly, annoyed with his tears. He was angry and they were getting in his way. "I love you, Auntie, but _I hate this_. I hate it here. I wanna go home."

Sabine let his words sink in, allowing the weight of them to drag her to the dark depths of disappointment and guilt. Then she took a deep breath, cloaking herself in stoic responsibility, level-headedness.

Something her baby sister Michonne could use an upgrade in.

"We can't go home right now, Andre. You know that. And you know that isn't anyone's fault. Now... _I know_ you're frustrated and confused. But this isn't the time to fight with me. Go inside and wash up for lunch and we'll talk about this later, okay?" Acutely aware of their audience, Sabine crossed her arms and turned her head slightly in Spencer's direction. "Could you leave us alone, please?"

"Of course." Spencer gave Andre a nod and made to leave them as they went into the house for lunch. He surreptitiously watched them go, then began taking the fishing supplies back to the boat house, their temporary surveillance war room.

Mike was waiting inside, now watching Porter try to get the firewall up and running.

"Hey. Kid still bored?" Mike's heavy baritone greeted him as he ducked into the dim, somewhat dank space. He was standing over their computer station, now looking serious after spending all afternoon smiling around the aunt.

Spencer dumped the supplies and nodded. "And then some. He's a smart kid. You should let him at that thing, Porter." He gestured to the laptop sitting on the rickety wooden table in the middle of the boat house. "Might get us up and running faster. It's a lake house, dude, not the presidential bunker."

Porter, a serious man with a neat, military buzz cut and the best goddamned poker face Spencer had ever seen, looked up from the laptop.

"I know you're only a couple of years out of Quantico, Agent Monroe, so I'll let that slide. This is a complicated set of roadblocks. Also, this is Negan Wolfe, so we may as well be guarding The President." Porter answered stoically. "The execution time is regrettable, but it's nearly done." He nodded, his flat gray eyes gesturing to Spencer's discarded jacket, hanging on the back of an equally rickety chair. "You should go ahead and call your mother like a good little Spency before the firewall's up."

Mike laughed his quiet, rumbling chuckle as Porter allowed the tiniest smile on God's green earth to disturb the straight line of his lips.

"Yeah. Sure. Fine. She worries. Whatever. At least I'm not flirting with the kid's aunt." Spencer rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket, where he kept his cell phone.

He heard Mike's laughter abruptly stop and Porter went back to encrypting the fire wall that would protect them from all manner of unseen attacks. Good. Assholes.

Spencer slipped out of the boat house and walked along the shady, grassy path that led into a thicket of trees and foliage. The landscape here was well cared for and designed for privacy, even at the lip of a vast lake.

His gaze prowled the side of the house as he walked - first the kitchen, where he could see Sabine and Andre inside making a mess. They cooked big in that family, for only two of them.

Spencer's parents were always conservative about things, including flavors and portions. His father was a Wasp through and through and his mother was Jewish - the combo made for interesting family dynamics, and a good cover.

He pulled out his phone when he was clear of the windows on the first floor. Another scan of the building let him know that he was in the one blind spot provided by the camera setup around the perimeter of the house. Orchestrated himself. Just one. Just narrow enough to look like a mistake.

He called his 'mom' on her burner phone.

"Monroe." Said the no-nonsense female voice expectantly. "Is Mr. Wolfe's 'package' in good condition?"

Spencer smirked, knowing this lady would rather eat bugs than talk to him. But she had no choice. Mr. Wolfe was resourceful that way. It was pretty funny.

"The package is in the mail, mom, I told you a thousand times." He sighed hard, hamming it up. "I think dad'll like it. It'll be a little tricky to manipulate at first - it's pretty clever. But in time, he'll get the hang of it. It's the perfect companion. An upgrade from the last one, you ask me."

"Save the theatrics, Monroe." The woman huffed irritably now, her cool tone wavering. "How soon can you move it out of there?"

"In due time. The firewall will be up in less than an hour, that means no communication. Total dead zone."

"Nice call. Let them get good and settled in. _Then_ _secure_ _the package_. Understood?"

"Yeah, mom. I love you, too."

The dial tone. Spencer hung up and tucked his phone back into his pocket. On his way back to the boat house, he paused to look in on Andre and his Aunt Sabine again. They were sitting at the kitchen table for lunch. Andre noticed him through the window and gave him a little, half-hearted wave. Their eyes met and Spencer could see their deal from the boat still in them.

Mr. Wolfe was gonna love this kid. Groomed right, the two of them could be unstoppable.

Spencer gave him a short nod in solidarity and continued on his way to check the alarms around the house.

* * *

The Bullet Man's house was small, dark, and full of things he'd collected over the long years.

Newspapers, books, stacks and stacks of framed family photos. Michonne assumed this judging by the many times she saw the same, pretty black woman and young boy popping up around the room. Though they didn't look all that much alike (in fact, she was sure this boy was a little older), the young man's bright, kind smile and clever eyes reminded her of her Andre.

Michonne walked through the space, charmed by the dust dancing in the dim orange light and the deep shadows. His eclectic hoard and the incense-coffee smell hovering in the air. He kept instruments of all varieties. There was a piano, a violin, a _typewriter_ , and at least four telescopes.

There were awards scattered about the place, on a small desk against the window, on the coffee table, on the mantlepiece. Clustered together on whatever cleared, flat surface could be found. Engraved on mahogany plaques or standing on chrome and bronze posts. Awards with words like "valour", "heroism", and "distinguished service".

There were newspapers on the windows as well, underneath the blinds, which themselves were underneath open curtains. Michonne began to piece Morgan's story together as she looked around, reading the words and looking at the pictures. She saw phrases like "saves two", "genius discovery", and "startling forensic evidence". She also saw headlines like "unarmed son of top APD official fatally shot", and "resigns from force".

These all instantly reminded Michonne of the handsome, intense man walking next to her.

She gave Rick's strong, warm hand a squeeze. He turned to look down at her again, squeezing back, his thumb rubbing hers gently as they followed his friend Morgan through the house to the kitchen. Michonne smiled up at him, trying to show him with her eyes that she liked this place. She liked Morgan.

She liked _him_.

When they reached the kitchen, it was much brighter inside, though there was still yellowed, frayed newspaper covering some of the windows. Michonne released Rick's hand and tucked hers in her jeans pockets, watching Morgan retrieve three mugs from his cupboards. She even liked the chipped, peeling seafoam green paint on the wood. It reminded her of the kind of domestic life one could only spend years and years wearing in. It also seemed like more of a woman's touch to Michonne. Some soft, warm color to offset all the dark wood and clutter.

Rick stood patiently next to Michonne across Morgan's cluttered kitchen island as the older man poured them all fresh cups of black coffee. Neither man spoke as their host went about his work. Michonne almost smirked, understanding that these two had a lot in common.

Not just their tragic pasts, it seemed, but their complete and utter comfort with - preference for - silence.

She decided to make small talk herself, then. "So, have you and your wife lived here long, Morgan?" Michonne asked softly, offering his plaid shirt covered back a pretty, polite smile. She didn't want to bring up what she thought might be a child he'd lost.

Rick turned to frown thoughtfully at her before Morgan answered, facing them from the coffee pot with a grim, but nevertheless cheerful expression. "My wife Jenny and I bought this house eighteen years ago, yes ma'am. But she didn't live to see it reach this condition, I'm afraid."

Michonne felt empathy course through her as he handed her a mug. "I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's _fine_. Really." Morgan drawled quietly, shaking his head. "She died of cancer, a few years before..." Oppressive pain flickered across his face and he forced a smile. "Well, before Duane."

Rick put one hand on his hip as he took his mug, shifting on his feet respectfully. He and the Bullet Man had been down this road before.

Morgan had once been a man of the law, himself. A forensic specialist working for the APD. Until it all came to a screeching, tragic halt with the shooting death of his son, Duane. Rick and Morgan had only crossed paths a couple of times in their careers. And when Rick tried to reach out to him for help with this case before, Morgan had long been underground. Fate hadn't meant for them to work together back then. These days the only reasons Morgan spoke to Rick, allowed him into his home, or dared to open his doors to the light of day, were this case and their shared tragedy.

Outsiders never really quite understood how such grief could produce anything positive, like their silent, stoic friendship. But Rick thought maybe Michonne could. He thought maybe Morgan was on the same page. He watched his gorgeous next door neighbor interacting with his widowed, reclusive friend, falling for the way she looked the man directly in his eyes, not shying from his pain. She didn't shy from the hard stuff. He appreciated that about her more and more.

Michonne relaxed a little as she sipped her coffee. It was even stronger than Rick's.

"You got milk and sugar, Morgan?" The cowboy in question drawled amicably, noticing Michonne's small flinch, already ambling over to Morgan's ancient refrigerator.

"Ah, yes. Sorry." Morgan smiled at Michonne nostalgically. "Jenny liked her coffee light and sweet, too. I'd forgotten. And you have a beautiful smile like hers, too."

Michonne and Morgan smiled empathetically at each other as Rick fetched the milk and sugar for her coffee. As he poured it and handed her mug back to her, the new friends in his life continued getting to know each other.

"Thank you. I like your place. It feels really safe. I could spend all day wandering around in here."

"Morgan's been wanderin' around in here all by himself for goin' on six years, now." Rick teased in a throaty drawl, stirring some sugar into his own coffee. "Right, Bullet Man?"

Ever since he'd started up with Michonne, he liked a little sweet to cut the thick, enticing intensity of his black coffee. She was rubbing off on him in more ways than he could count. It secretly excited the hell out of him, though.

Morgan and Michonne chuckled at Rick's semi-serious jab. "That's right. You've gotta _earn_ your reputation for bein' a terrifyin' old hoarder in this neighborhood. Kids aren't easily intimidated by casual depression around here."

Rick smirked, thinking of Tobin and Aaron outside and the group of friends unfazed by their presence. "Yeah. I noticed."

"Well, I'm impressed. They gave you a nickname out there. That makes you an even bigger recluse than Rick." Michonne deadpanned, joining in. Then she squinted curiously at them both, cradling her mug in her hands. "How _did_ you two meet, then?"

They both paused mid-sip, their elbows sticking out on either side, mirrors of each other.

Rick took a swig of his coffee and cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck with a frown that set his handsome brow atop his gorgeous blues just so.

"Mm, I showed up uninvited one day, lookin' for help, and Morgan…" He grunted, gesturing with his cup, casting about for how to describe what happened next without alarming her.

Morgan shrugged, crossing his arms, his eyes glinting playfully behind his glasses. "I almost blew his head off."

Michonne gaped, her eyebrows rising to the top of her forehead. "Okay...sure. That makes sense." Then, boldly (and somewhat naughtily, she'd readily admit later), she added: "Rick and I met because he's been watching me since he moved in next door."

Rick's casually pleasant expression melted into hard, intense focus as their eyes latched onto each other's across Morgan's kitchen island.

"Turns out it saved my life. So I asked him to come over instead of just watching."

He stood next to his quiet friend, leaning to the side, his coffee cup in one hand and his other resting on his belt. The sexy, challenging look in Michonne's big browns just then made him swallow thickly. He rooted around in her gaze for clues as to how he should respond in mixed company. Yeah, Rick settled on it in his head, his _other_ head yearning to expose how aroused she could make him with the slightest twitch of her lips. She was trouble.

"That true…?" Morgan frowned curiously, his eyes darting from Rick to Michonne and back again.

Rick nodded, shifting on his feet again. His answer was simple. "Michonne's kinda hard not to notice."

She was also damned hard to resist. He wanted to throw everything off this counter and bend her over it. Or watch her ride him with her thick thighs and juicy backside on top of it. The thoughts now tumbling through his head were obscene, causing his plush lips to purse and his prismatic blues to roam. She looked as though she recognized - and shared - each and every one of them.

Morgan observed the new couple, pleasantly surprised by their obvious connection, and the change he could already see in Rick by virtue of her presence alone. "Well...it's about time you got yourself a girlfriend, Rick."

Rick almost spilled his coffee, his stark blues zeroing in on Bullet Man's kind, appreciative face.

"He's a good man, Michonne." He winked at her, now. "I think he tries to forget that from time to time."

"I noticed," she replied sweetly, gazing at the stoic cowboy with the sad eyes. "I don't plan on letting him forget anymore."

As much as he wanted to fall into her gaze and sweet words under the slick summer sun and not resurface until kingdom come, Rick had to get the conversation back on track. All the attention was starting to make him uncomfortable, certainly.

He couldn't help pausing, though, to study the perfect contours and radiant valleys of Michonne's face. And he realized that he very much wanted to be able to call her _his_ in some way or other.

So badly it made his chest clench with invisible, though _fierce_ longing. A woman like Michonne…

To be able to come home to her at night and crawl into bed with her freely. Kiss and touch and pull her close to him whenever he wanted to. Spend hours or days hunting down ways to make her smile, make her happy, make her call his name with that soft, sweet, enslaving need in her sexy voice. Make her cum and grow weak in his arms, _mmm,_ _every night._ And then again every morning.

That kind of prize could drive a man to terrible lengths to possess.

He cleared his throat. "Maybe we should just talk about why we're here and get you back to your day, Morgan."

"Right, then. I think you'll find this interestin'." Morgan nodded sharply and adopted a serious, though still keenly excited demeanor. Michonne broke her fixation on Rick and listened up. "Come on down to the basement. I'll show you."

Rick offered Michonne an encouraging nod as they followed Morgan to the corner of the kitchen where the basement door stood - but she could see the allure of the Bullet Man's word…' _girlfriend'_...dancing around in his eyes as they walked.

Morgan shimmied the door open and reached inside to flip the light switch. The pitch black rectangle cast out a dim, faint yellow glow. Michonne immediately understood now why there was incense constantly burning around the house. The dank, muggy humidity brought the strong smell of gun residue, testing chemicals and standing water floating up to them from the depths of the basement.

Rick and Michonne exchanged glances, pausing at the top of the stairs. He couldn't help a small smile as he gestured that it was okay. This was why he'd brought her along. This was the fun, intriguing part. This was where they got to watch the Bullet Man go to work.

As he led them into the basement, gingerly taking their coffee with them down the rickety wooden stairs, Morgan spoke: "Your email yesterday mornin' said the forensics reports came back inconclusive…" he shook his head, his voice dragging with suspicious annoyance. "That sounded odd to me right off the bat."

"The bullet holes were somethin' else, though…" Rick replied, reaching out to help Michonne hop the wide, cracked dent in the last cement step at the foot of the stairs.

Michonne looked around, squeezing Rick's hand before letting him go and stepping forward into the large, dark room. If upstairs was fascinating, Michonne felt like she could get lost in here for more days and she wouldn't care one little bit.

It was like a magic shop. A hardcore magic shop.

There were guns and more parts to guns, rifles, hand guns, laser sighting scopes, detached barrels of all fashions, magazine clips, and on and on. There were two work stations with cold white lamps shining down on them, full of all the evidence of Morgan's tinkering.

And in the center of it all, there was a large white water tank with a small, tightly sealed door that opened to reveal a chamber full of water. It was a homemade bullet catcher. A ballistics chamber for identifying all sorts of things from shot patterns to bullet types to how far away the victim was from his or her attacker.

Michonne was flat out impressed. " _Wow._ Morgan, it's amazing down here."

Morgan paused to raise a pleasantly surprised eyebrow at her as he wiped his hands on his apron and sorted parts, bits, and bobs around on one of his work tables.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind the clutter, or the smell." He added absentmindedly, continuing on with his report to Rick as his guests walked around examining things he had situated everywhere. "The impact sites are suspicious, I'll give you that, Rick, but it's not _just_ them."

He was working as he spoke. Michonne walked up close to his work station and watched, resting her hands on the table surface in whatever clear space she could find. Rick came to stand next to her to watch as well, frowning under the pale halo of the overhead lamp.

"I started thinkin'...how come those same anomalies didn't lead our boys to a weapon? Seems a dent like that points to a barrel that's been badly damaged. Rookie stuff. Almost basic lead..."

Rick and Michonne watched as he assembled a rifle before their very eyes, made from what she'd assumed where spare parts. It seemed this toy shop was fully functional. Michonne stared as his hands slid and locked the barrel into place and then punched a detachable metal butt to the back of the pistol grip.

Then he put it down for a moment to put earplugs in and replace his eyeglasses with goggles.

Rick wanted to say it - that he thought it was a coverup. A basic lead like that going unfollowed, unresolved. But he didn't like kindling the anguish that the thought of dirty cops brought Morgan on a good day, let alone a bad one. And he had a feeling there was more to this story than he was comprehending right now.

"I'd love to know where you're goin' with all this, Morgan…"

Morgan suddenly aimed the rifle at them both. Michonne jerked up straight on her feet, bumping into Rick. He calmly reached a toned, muscular arm around to guide her body behind his a little, the palm of his big hand taking hold of her thigh to steady her. Though he knew Morgan wasn't really going to hurt them. He may be a few cards short of a full deck, but he wasn't stupid.

"Well, first of all...look closely."

They stared at him, and then both slowly tilted their heads at the same time, noticing that the barrel was unusual. It looked like it had been carved that way, however. Rick raised an eyebrow.

"The bullets are inconsequential." Morgan answered finally. "Just echoes. They come out marked 'cause of what they've been through on the way. It's the _gun_ that's strange, Rick. It wasn't _damaged_. At least, not by accident. Damaged isn't what I'd call it." He took the gun slowly over to the water tank. Michonne gave Rick an inexplicably excited look and followed. "I studied those pictures you gave me very closely."

Michonne thought she knew what he was getting at. She'd stared at those blown up photos of the odd bullet holes in Rick's truck as well, and a thought had crossed her mind that she hadn't been quite sure she should voice. Being around Morgan was enticing the idea out of her, however.

Rick watched as Morgan opened the door of the tank and took a stance in front of it.

"You think someone intentionally _carved_ it that way, don't you?" She breathed, her eyes wide as she watched Morgan aim the gun into the tank. "Like a brand or a signature? Right in the barrel."

He paused to consider her through his goggles. "Exactly, yes." He smiled. "Cover your ears, please."

Rick turned to see Michonne biting her cute, shapely bottom lip excitedly as she clamped her hands over her ears and leaned into him. He watched her, putting his own fingers in his ears and letting his eyes roam her beautiful face as Morgan fired five shots into the water tank.

He could feel Michonne's heart about to pound out of her chest when the noise and rumble was over.

Soundproofing hung around haphazardly, duct-taped to the exposed brick walls, so it hadn't been too bad. This kind of business and his genius imagination for forensics had earned Rick's friend his reputation as the Bullet Man.

Rick rubbed out his ears and shifted on his feet, secretly enjoying the feel of Michonne's body leaned into his, her shapely front to his sturdy back. He could still feel her heartbeat against his arm. In the back of his mind, he didn't want her to stray too far. He was impressed and turned on by her shrewdness and her comradery with Morgan - a man that was turning out to be important to Rick, in a more ways than one.

"You came up with all this in a day?" Was all he could say. The two whiz kids simply exchanged expressions as though these things were obvious. "Back up a minute. You're tellin' me this guy _branded_ his weapon? And the cops didn't think to follow that?"

Morgan sighed hard, letting the gun fall to his side, aimed at the floor. He looked very haunted for a moment to Michonne. "That's the worst injustice of it. That poor girl maybe could've been found - _saved_ \- if anyone knew where to look. How to look. All you need is to identify that small piece of a signature. A word. Initials. A symbol. Could be _anything_...but it is most definitely unique. One of a kind."

Rick tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Morgan's eyes slipped from his to Michonne's. "Care to take her for a spin?"

"Absolutely."

Rick watched as Morgan led an eager Michonne back to his other work station, carefully setting his rifle aside and booting up his laptop. There was a program in it that analyzed the data from the water tank, and another that apparently ran a very long, very thin laser saw. He stood by, his keen eyes observing as Morgan pulled up a program, selected a pattern, and initiated the saw. Within a minute or two, the saw had done its work carving something inside a fresh gun barrel attached to it.

Morgan worked for a minute or two more replacing the barrel he'd just been using and handed the rifle to Michonne. "Exact same pattern as the puncture sites in Miss Jones' car. New barrel."

He had pointed Michonne in the direction of the tank after handing over his goggles and fresh ear plugs for her to use. He now stood next to Rick in the peanut gallery, nodding for her to pull the trigger.

Michonne confidently fired into the tank. The men stood back and let her do her thing. Rick eyed her body in particular and the way it reacted to the kickback.

Morgan was printing the results from a ballistics test he'd run on both readouts from the different barrel carvings when his doorbell sounded from upstairs. Everyone froze. Their host wiped his hands on his apron again and frowned up at the basement ceiling. "I'll be right back. Excuse me…"

They watched him begrudgingly disappear upstairs. Michonne turned to face Rick as soon as he was gone, smiling brilliantly. "I think I love him. I _know_ my dad would."

Rick chuckled, immediately reaching out to pull her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist.

His pelvis and hers met and he stood at his full height against her, letting her feel that he was dangerously close to giving away yet more intimate details of their relationship to his eccentric friend.

"I think the Bullet Man has a crush on you, too." He drawled, his eyes slipping down to her lips as Michonne reached up to wrap her hands around his neck. He felt a chill run the length of his spine when her fingers found his curls and went exploring.

Michonne smiled up at him, her body pressing closer to his in her thin little tank top and tight jeans, allowing him to inhale her scent as it found him through the haze of gunfire. "So…girlfriend, huh?"

Rick paused, letting his eyes flicker from hers to her lips again. "He just hasn't seen me with anyone since we met, that's all. We're not too different, me and him."

"Yes you are." She breathed, nuzzling his fuzzy chin affectionately with her nose and mouth. Rick leaned into her, angling his face down as close to hers as he could, his lips longing to take a kiss. "You're not alone, Rick. You're gonna solve this case. And I'm gonna help you, baby."

Rick grunted, his cock twitching against the top of her thigh, and crushed his lips against hers. He felt her tongue slither out to taste his stubbly skin, opening for her without hesitation, squeezing her to him.

They kissed heatedly for a few breathless moments before hearing the unmistakable sound of footsteps nearing the door at the top of the stairs. The two flushed lovers broke apart and took a couple of steps back from each other as Morgan descended.

He dutifully ignored their guilty expressions and headed straight for his test results. "That was the boys from down the block." He informed them, putting the transparent paper on a light box sitting near him.

Rick scoffed, moving closer to watch what Morgan was doing. "Oh yeah, what do _they_ want?"

He could guess. He had the walk, look, and smell of a cop, retired or not, Glenn had irritably informed him unsolicited on a number of occasions. Morgan turned around and beckoned them over, his eyebrows raised above the rim of his glasses. He looked slightly annoyed, but also very intrigued.

"They were askin' after Michonne, here. I was surprised...they never cross my yard unless it's about somethin' very grave."

Michonne rolled her eyes at the attention but didn't comment. Rick liked the idea of ignoring her neighborhood fans until they had to walk outside again. "You were sayin'?"

Morgan gestured to the light box, turning it on.

Three transparent images of bullets discharged from three rifles glared up at them. The pale white glow from the box was captured perfectly in the reflection of Rick's pupils as he stared at the holes. "These two - mine and Michonne's? Carved from an identical brand to the one found in your missing girl's car."

"But they're different." Michonne whispered, squinting hard. "The metal's got tiny imperfections, exacerbated by all the heat and energy flowing through that barrel during the shot."

" _Exactly_ , Michonne. You know your stuff."

Morgan smiled as Rick continued to stare at the three look-alike but definitely not identical marks.

"So unless we find that specifically branded gun, we won't find our guy, I'm guessin'." He concluded.

"Correct." Morgan conceded. He turned the light box off and rubbed his forehead, leaning back against his work station. "How much do you know about super guns?"

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Speak English, Morgan."

"Like homemade computers, baby." Michonne filled him in. He eyed her, yet again impressed as she examined Morgan's sketches and research. "I've...heard about them before." She hedged, not wishing to mention Negan in front of Morgan, no matter how much she liked him.

"Oh yeah? What have you heard?" Morgan gestured for her to continue, crossing his arms. "As right as you've been this entire visit, I'm curious to know if we're thinkin' the same thing."

Michonne explained what she knew about them. Newfangled 'internet of everything'-type weapons constructed from a roster of souped up parts. Super easy to manage and change, add to or streamline.

Negan had once wanted to invest in a handful of quite brilliantly talented young super gun engineers from around the world like a hungry mogul tossing out startup cash. They came with so-called custom upgrades like purple laser sighting and little quirks like…

"Leaving a mark. Tagging a kill, so to speak."

"Hm…" Morgan agreed. "The unique carvings are done in such a way as to leave no mistake of what kill belongs to whom. Why anyone would want that is beyond me, but bells and whistles and taggin' aren't the only things these guns can do, Rick."

Rick felt the walls closing in on him as he stared at the images on the now darkened light box, thinking. They were looking for a very specific needle in a very large, strange haystack. One that was staring right at him, but that he couldn't see.

"You could have five guns in one if you designed it right." Michonne chimed in again, remembering Negan's enthusiasm. "And most of them aren't easily traced unless the _purpose_ is to send a message."

Rick stared at the dirty basement floor now, letting her words sink in. Turning them over and contemplating what it all meant. "I'm afraid to find out what message this was guy tryin' to send."

Michonne shrugged, marveling at the complications of the human psyche. They all did. They all three were broken and haunted enough to know that it was possible they'd never decode that message.

"I've identified three types of rifles it could be. Findin' the source of your brand...that's up to your tenacity, I'm afraid my friend." Morgan piped up again, glancing over at Michonne, his smile remaining. "Or Michonne's, I have a feelin'."

He gestured to the first rifle barrel he'd used before he let her have a turn. "The Browning Mark 5, semi-auto. Customized, of course. I'll text you the others. You can start there."

* * *

On the way out, Rick listened to Michonne chatting with Morgan about her military upbringing and her father's enthusiasm for guns.

He was thinking of guns, too. Of the rifle Morgan had identified. The one he would now have to use in hopes of tracing it back to some identifying mark.

He supposed it helped that it was a pretty standard hunting rifle for pros. And he knew just the man to call about it, too.

He remembered Shane's fondness for guns growing up and all through adulthood. How he was always trying to get Rick to come hunting with him. And Lori...there was a period of about three summers when she'd nagged Rick up and down to borrow one of Shane's hunting rifles and kill a notorious gang of raccoons that'd turfed their small King County neighborhood.

She'd been on her way to doing that herself, having given up on her perpetually distracted husband, when she'd left him that voicemail message. He remembered because it was Shane who'd landed on the scene first - having heard it across his radio on his way out to meet her. That day was a whirlwind of confusion and grief and horrible, horrible pain.

Rick forced the memories away, counting to ten in his head as he stepped across Morgan's threshold to his front porch. Michonne joined him and together they all huddled. "Thank you, Morgan. Really. This was more than helpful."

"Not to mention fun." Michonne added, feeling relieved of her own stressful woes, if only for a moment.

"Any time, Rick. Michonne? Pleasure to meet you."

"Ditto." Michonne was shielding her radiant eyes from the sun almost preemptively, it was so hot out.

"You think I could ask you another favor?" The other man nodded seriously and Rick told him about the rigged weapon the hooded kid had used at the hospital without directly mentioning Michonne's involvement. "You think you could help me identify somethin' like that? Where it might be sold or manufactured? Who might come lookin' for one? I'd Google it but somethin' tells me you'd give me information that's actually useful."

The Bullet Man chuckled and thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Sure. Not a problem."

Michonne couldn't help sending an appreciative look Rick's way for never failing to keep his promises, even when that meant heaping more on his already overflowing plate.

Morgan shook Rick's hand and they were on the point of leaving when they received a very loud greeting from the boys by the car. " _Heeeey, miss!_ Knew you had to come outta there some time." The kid with the lips called cockily. "Bullet Man and that white boy can't keep you all to themselves."

"Yo, Bullet Man, come play dominos!" Another kid interrupted, now bored by his friend's thirst for Michonne.

The cat calls and howls of encouragement continued and the music swelled as the trio made their way down the concrete walkway across the lawn. Summer was indeed in full swing. The air was thick with the desire for pleasure, if only to chase the humidity away.

Morgan nodded in greeting to Tobin and Aaron, who were still leaning against their car vigilantly, baking in the Georgia heat. They gratefully got themselves behind the wheel and passenger side respectively when they saw that it was time to move on.

"I think I'd better go join them before they shout the neighborhood down," the widower drawled patiently, sounding like a jaded uncle. "I'll call you when I have somethin', Rick. And good luck. I hope you bring that girl home."

"Thanks again." Rick said as he (somewhat proudly) opened his passenger door so Michonne could climb in.

"Aw, don't leave me hangin' like that, sweetheart!" Lips moaned from two houses down. Rick had simply gotten used to him by now.

"And take care of _her_." The reclusive ex-cop added as he backed up to go and join his neighbors. Morgan gestured to Michonne's figure as Rick slammed the door securely shut. "She's somethin' special."

"I will." Came his confident response, his eyes gleaming. Morgan left them as Rick sauntered around the back side of his Bronco and climbed into the driver's seat.

* * *

 _if your lips are near me_

 _you will be my baby_

 _and if your love is with me_

 _you will be my baby_

 _oh yes you will_

 _so spend the night with me_

 _and I will make it worth your while..._

-'The Night', Honne

* * *

When he climbed back inside, Michonne was waiting for him, watching.

Rick paused as he started the engine, briefly wondering if she'd try to climb into his lap again as he watched her watching him thoughtfully. It was an interesting feeling, the shoe being on the other foot.

"What?" He chuckled throatily as the eased the Bronco away from the curb and jetted them down the street towards the intersection.

Michonne shook her head, once again turning up his radio. "Nothing. I liked seeing you with your friend."

Rick rubbed his stubbled chin, slightly embarrassed under her warm scrutiny. "Yeah, Morgan's good people. I don't have many. Never have, really."

"Me either."

It was Rick's turn to glance across at her as he got them on the road properly and settled down into his worn leather seat. He drove with ease, almost as if his thoughts controlled the truck instead of his hands. Once they found a stop light, he reached over and took _her_ hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" He couldn't help a slow, crooked grin as he resumed their questions game from the other night. Michonne crossed her arms and glared at him, intrigued. "I'll bet you were your daddy's favorite, weren't you?"

His grin grew when she gaped at him, her smooth skin aglow with defiance, her eyes sparkling as he got them moving again. "What? No I was _not!_ "

Of course her expression belied her declaration. Rick knew he'd been right. "No wonder Sabine's not exactly your biggest fan," he mused, still grinning.

"I hate you." Michonne hissed playfully, narrowing her eyes at him as he drove.

"I hope not." Rick got serious, glancing over at her with more intensity this time when he could take his prismatic eyes off the road.

Michonne got lost in his eyes, then the handsome cut of his jaw and the serious undertone to what he'd just said. She felt that hollow ache in her stomach again, out of nowhere. "I think I'm hungry."

Rick's grin spread. He immediately put his turn signal on, preparing to exit the expressway without another word from her. "You read my mind."

He wanted this field trip with Michonne to last as long as possible, now that they'd set it in motion. He felt proud that Morgan liked her, and hungry for more quality time with her. It was a strange set of heavy circumstances, the conditions of their budding relationship, but he didn't care. He was firmly ensconced in it - being with Michonne was like one of those heady, intense electronic songs she liked to turn up on his radio.

He didn't want the song to end. Not until well into the night, if he could get away with it.

They ended up going to grab food at a local barbeque joint. Tobin and Aaron joined them at first, then left them alone with takeout to wait in the car. Rick and Michonne sat across from each other at a booth, laughing quietly and sharing stories from their pasts.

Even though they both wanted to be closer, they thought it safer and less of a distraction to sit where they could see each other's eyes.

"I'm thinkin' of breaking out the old case files…" Rick told her, watching her dig into her brisket, loving her seemingly insatiable appetite. He could relate. He wanted to eat _her_ with the same indulgent voracity. "Retrace the way they were _all_ taken. Every single one of 'em. See if I can find anymore 'anomalies'."

Michonne nodded, chewing thoughtfully as she watched Rick take a swig of the one beer he was allowing himself this afternoon. "I was thinking gun shows. It's the perfect cover if you wanna buy a bunch of shit and do some experimenting. Maybe something will stand out."

"Good thinkin'." Rick clinked his beer bottle with hers and they drank, staring at each other. She was so beautiful when her interest was sparked, and he had to take a deep breath and rip his eyes from hers to keep from being distracted. "I'm gonna make some phone calls tonight. My friend Shane? He knows guns, too, like you. Plus he's closer to the registry. Just in case."

Rick finally drove them toward home after they'd managed to prolong their late lunch into an early evening dinner or sorts.

Michonne was exhausted, and they didn't talk much on the way back. But Rick could feel her, sitting next to him, at ease and safe in his truck. Sexy and smart and _with_ _him_. All to himself. As they got closer and closer to Reece Park, Tobin and Aaron on their tail, he found that he was counting the seconds with dread before he'd potentially have to say goodnight to her.

She felt it too. Being this close to each other all day, away from the two lonely islands of their houses, had been nice. Neither of them wanted it to end.

"Hey." She whispered when he cut the engine and turned to gaze at her in the rapidly descending, early evening gloom. "Do you think...maybe...you'd want to spend the night again?"

Relief and eager anticipation flooded Rick from head to toe, and he nodded, gazing at her, thoughts already forming in his mind's eye of what he still wanted to do to her. Make her scream his name again and again and again. When he spoke in answer, his voice was husky and thickly-coated with desire.

"Alright."


	16. the secret in the trunk

**WARNING:**

 **Not. Safe. For. Work.**

 **Or your feels...**

 **Potentially triggering mentions of domestic violence ahead. But plenty of Richonne to make up for it.**

* * *

 _if I was your best friend,_

 _would you let me take care of you?_

 _and do all the things that only a best friend can?_

 _if I was your girlfriend,_

 _would you let me dress you?_

 _I mean help you pick out your clothes before we go out?_

 _not that you're helpless…_

 _but sometimes, sometimes_

 _those are the things that being in love's about_

-'If I Was Your Girlfriend', Prince

* * *

Michonne stood in the darkened foyer of Rick's house, waiting.

She tried not to snoop too much, but she couldn't help her gaze from befalling everything it could reach - or discern - in the darkness.

After he'd agreed to spend the night, she'd suggested he take a minute to grab some clothes and toiletries. She was wary of making him feel like he was moving in, but Michonne couldn't resist the chance to finally see where he lived; see if her feeling about how sparse, dark, and lonely his life was before they met was right.

Rick avoided her gaze as he led her up the concrete walkway to his door, his bow legged stride somewhat hesitant. She had a hunch that he was afraid she'd think less of him, after all they'd just been through together, once she saw how he lived. She was curious, but she wasn't going to judge. Michonne just wanted to know him - the way he'd confessed he wanted to know _her_ the first night they slept together.

She politely waited by the open door, gazing up at him sweetly as he told her he'd only be a minute.

She watched him disappear into the shadows, down the hall and up his stairs. And she waited.

Inside was almost identical to her place, except on opposite sides. And of course, it was also nothing like hers at all.

His living room had a television but no cable box. A black, nondescript couch and a glass coffee table.

One tall lamp.

His kitchen, from what she could see of it, looked like it rarely got any action. There were no dishes in sight. But judging by the crud on the coffee pot sitting in the coffee maker, he merely rinsed the pot out every morning before making himself some of that strong coffee of his. She wanted very badly to open Rick's fridge, but she stopped herself from budging from her spot.

To keep her curiosity in check, she stuffed her hands down into her jeans pockets and rocked on her feet, wincing a little at the pain from the cut and stitching on her side.

She stopped moving, trying to quell her desire to find Rick in the shadows. Lights from a passing car illuminated the gloom long enough for her to see movement upstairs. She heard his boots moving across the floor and then his voice: "Be right down."

Michonne muttered: "Okay..."

But she couldn't wait any longer. There was a strong desire in her to see where he stood, night after night, watching her. She bit her lip, fighting the urge futilely for a few seconds. Finally, when Rick still hadn't come down after a few seconds more, she carefully closed the front door and tiptoed toward the stairs.

When she found his bedroom, Rick was pulling dusty brown boxes full of case files out of his closet. He'd basically illegally copied these before he left, and then hoarded them for nearly two years. He planned to break into them later tonight and see what he could dig up. Maybe with Michonne's help. Maybe while in bed.

He paused what he was doing and stood upright, gazing at Michonne as she crossed the threshold, her eyes wide in the dark. Like the rest of his house, there were no lights on up here.

His bed was unmade - a simple mattress and boxspring on an iron base, dark gray sheets under a black duvet. There was one nightstand and a little lamp sitting on it.

He lived a simple, lonely lifestyle. But it turned her on. Everything about him turned her on.

"Hi." She said softly, her heart fluttering at the heat in his dark gaze. She gave him an apologetic shrug.

His lips twitched into a small, somewhat unsurprised grin. "Hey."

Rick stepped over the box he'd been dragging out of his closet and reached for her, taking her by surprise. She'd expected him to be embarrassed, or annoyed, or to tell her to give him more time and go back downstairs. But she had forgotten just how honest he'd always been about giving her what she needed from him. _Anything_ , he'd said more than once. The possibilities were so exciting.

"Commere."

Michonne came willingly, taking his warm hand firmly. He pulled her close to him and kissed her, stroking her cheek, grinding himself into her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, immediately melting into him.

Rick took his time kissing her delicious lips for a moment before stepping back and turning her around. He wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her into him from behind.

"I wanna show you somethin'..." he whispered huskily into her ear.

She knew he was practically reading her mind as he walked her slowly through the shadowy room, toward the lone window against the far wall next to a pitiful folding table and chair.

The window seemed to glow from the outside, casting the only shaft of light they had to illuminate their path as Rick moved Michonne closer and closer to it.

She let herself lean against him, bracing herself, her eyes widening as they went.

When they finally reached the window, her heartbeat sped up and her sex began to throb so intensely it shocked her. She could see her house a short distance further down the little hill.

And quite plainly...she could see _into_ it.

The sheer coverings on the windows above the sink were nothing. Even in the dark, she saw her kitchen island and Hercules licking himself on the linoleum floor next to it, clear as day.

Her eyes rose across the blinds to her bedroom, which was also dark. But as her curtains were also open, she could see into _it_ , too. She could make out the white doors of her closet, and the family photos lining her wall. Her dresser was missing, but if it had been there, she knew she'd also be able to see it.

Finally, her eyes drifted to her back yard, which she could also see most of in the dim, gray-orange glow of twilight outside. She pictured watching herself talking to Rick while he picked up her trash just three mornings ago.

"There was a time I used to stand here every day." He confessed gruffly, his eyes roaming her face for her reaction. His heart was pounding, too. His dick was steadily hardening against her firm, yet cushy backside.

"Keep talking…" she pleaded breathlessly, unconsciously grinding her ass into him as his arm tightened around her. She ignored the stinging in her side as Rick started kissing her neck.

She stared down at the side of her house, visible through his blinds, growing wetter and wetter as he granted her request.

"I tried not to look too long." His honest growl was absorbed by her tingling skin. "Too hard. But I woke up every mornin'...and came home every night...wantin' to make sure you were okay."

Michonne's eyes slipped closed as Rick's hands began to roam.

"All I wanted was to keep an eye on you…" he confessed, full of desire for her, burning up. "But you're _so beautiful_ , Michonne. I couldn't stop."

Her nipples were so sensitive they ached. Her stomach fluttered like crazy. Her sex felt so wet she feared she'd soak right through her jeans. All _she_ wanted was for Rick to fuck her until she screamed, like he confessed last night. Knowing how long, and how intensely he'd been wanting to - standing right here at this window, in this dark room - only made her need him inside her more.

"Take me home, Rick." Michonne demanded hoarsely, practically panting against him.

"Yes ma'am…" he agreed, turning her around again to plant one on her. She was practically purring for him, licking his chin fuzz with relish as he squeezed her ass in his big hands.

Michonne took hold of his dick through his pants, causing a hot push of air to escape his nostrils. She stroked him, kissing him harder to impress her urgent need upon him.

"Alright, alright... " he laughed huskily, squeezing her again before backing up and taking her by the arms. "A favor for a favor, Miss Williamson."

Michonne arched a suspicious eyebrow at him. "You want me to help you carry those boxes, don't you?"

* * *

Tobin and Aaron were joking about how blatantly obvious Rick Grimes' hard-on was for Michonne Williamson when they spotted the two of them leaving Rick's house.

"Heh. Check it out. What'd I tell ya?" Tobin punched Aaron in the arm and gestured to the couple carrying boxes, side-by-side across the yard that separated their houses.

"Yes. I see. You earned your ' _I told you so'_ , okay?" Aaron winced, rubbing his arm as he watched. "Good. Maybe I'll get to see my boyfriend before the end of the millennium if this guy's watching her. He seems like kind of a maniac about her..."

"That's a stupid thing to hope for, buddy." Tobin scoffed as he stared at the ex cop and his neighbor on one of the camera monitors in their van parked down the street. "Carol's just getting started. Don't you know _jack shit_ about Ms. Williamson and Mr. Wolfe? This thing's gonna blow the fuck up before it even gets _close_ to done."

"Yippee." Aaron rolled his eyes and continued watching as Rick and Michonne disappeared inside her front door. The porch light clicked off a few seconds after. "Thirty bucks says they're gonna fuck."

"Fifty bucks says they _already_ fucked, champ."

* * *

Once inside, they put down their boxes so Michonne could lock everything and set her alarm.

Then Rick was on top of her.

He kissed and groped her from behind as she latched the chain and turned the deadbolt. Michonne moaned when she felt his bulge rubbing against her; his hot lips and soft facial hair making her skin tingle even more than it already was.

Her stomach dipped and churned, desire for him flooding her from head to toe as Rick pulled her away from the door and turned her around to face him.

They stared into each other's eyes as he slowly walked her backwards through the foyer. Hercules was sniffing at one of the boxes, ignoring them as they passed him. Once they crossed into the kitchen, he turned her toward the rarely used dining table.

Michonne kissed him needily, her jeans becoming uncomfortably tight and soaked with her juices.

Rick let her go, stepping around her to pull out a chair and sit down. He pulled her down on top of him so that she had to open her legs and straddle him. His hands slid across her shapely hips to her amazing ass, where he squeezed possessively before hungrily capturing her lips with his yet again.

Michonne raked her nails through his hair, sending electric currents across his scalp, causing him to buck his erection into her heatedly. Rick released one of her hips and reached a hand up to roughly pull her tanktop and bra down partially, exposing one of her firm, dewdrop breasts. His mouth was attached to her nipple within seconds, licking and massaging it with his tongue, making her breathless with need.

Her panties flooded hot and unrelenting, now. This was the most she'd wanted him since they'd started this, driven partially by finally getting to see what his world was like all day.

Rick quickly unzipped her jeans as he devoured her perfect nipple between his lips, dipping a strong finger into her panties to feel how wet she was.

And holy fuck, was she _hot_ , slippery, and so wet the feel of her made his balls ache.

"Mmm... _damn._ " Rick moaned around a mouthful of her, dipping another finger into her molten hot pussy. She was wetter than he'd ever felt her.

Michonne gasped and began to ride his hand, gripping his neck as he licked and sucked on her nipple.

"You're so fuckin' _wet_ , Michonne." He wanted to lick her juices from his fingers.

So he pulled his hand from her jeans. Michonne got excited, opening her eyes to watch him.

Just as he was about to taste her on himself, she spotted the unmistakable shade of dark crimson coating his fingertips, running down his skin in sticky rivulets.

Her heart stopped and she grabbed his hand - searing mortification skyrocketing through her as she jumped up from Rick's lap.

"Shit. Shit! _Shit!_ "

She had totally forgotten. _How could she have forgotten?_

Rick's eyes popped open and he glared at her in confusion. "What is it? Michonne…?"

She could only just stand there realizing all the signs, completely embarrassed, as Rick slowly put the pieces together too. She'd been so fucking horny these last couple of weeks. Depressed and restless at the same time. And all that hollow fluttering in her stomach today hadn't just been because of Rick. The sudden stress of her nightmare of a situation had thrown her off every schedule she had, including this one. Michonne felt small and stupid suddenly as Rick gazed at his hand.

His hand that was now stained with her menstrual blood. Along with her jeans, probably. If she had been on top of him any longer, probably _his_ jeans were next.

Michonne felt the painful, scalding hot humiliation of memories from her life with Negan suddenly overwhelm her as she backed away from Rick.

Rick ignored his hand, watching her retreat from him. Concern flooded him as she backed up.

"Hey. _Hey_ \- it's okay…" he tried, getting to his feet as Michonne turned and walked quickly toward the hallway in the foyer. " _Michonne?_ "

Michonne felt tears welling in her eyes and heat on her neck as she clutched her stomach and escaped, headed straight for the hall bathroom.

Rick stalked after her, his boots thumping across the hardwood. He barely made it before Michonne closed the door in his face. A second later he heard the lock click.

He clenched his jaw, raising his hands to lean against the door frame, his hard-on still straining against his jeans. He was careful not to let his fingers touch the surface, now smelling the metallic scent of her blood mingled with her arousal wafting off of them.

Truth be told, he wasn't bothered in the slightest. Except that she was hiding from him.

"Michonne." His deep voice rumbled through the door as Michonne hastily shimmied out of her stained jeans and underwear through her tears. "Will you at least talk to me?"

She couldn't stop seeing Negan's enraged face. She was getting the chills just thinking about it. And she was so embarrassed, she could sob.

But she wiped her face harshly and clenched her legs together. Lifting the toilet seat up as quietly as she could, Michonne finally responded: "Just go away, Rick. I...I need to be alone right now."

Outside the door, Rick tensed up and exhaled sharply. That wasn't going to work. Surely she didn't expect him to just _go away_.

"I don't think that's what you want." His deep voice sounded out to her again as she slid herself onto the toilet seat.

She was out of tampons and she didn't know what she was going to do. She just wanted him to go away. Despair was creeping into her mind as the blood dripped into the water filling the toilet basin. Her night - her spirit - was ruined. Because of her stupidity. Her emotional escapism.

"It _is_ what I want, Rick." Michonne said darkly, staring at her stained jeans crumbled into a ball on the floor. She hugged herself on the toilet.

Her ribs were starting to ache again from the cut and stitch job. Great. More blood to deal with later when she needed to change her bandage.

"Just _go away._ Okay? I need to be alone."

There was a long, agonizing moment of silence. And then she heard his boots thumping heavily across the floor again. Michonne heaved a trembling sigh of relief and tried not to cry harder, listening to the sound of water running in the kitchen sink.

She couldn't help the tears threatening to overpower her as she remembered Negan. _Negan,_ nearly drowning her in a penthouse hot tub in Florence, claiming to wash her of her unsightly sins after beating her senseless. He hated the sight of blood on her. It was a terrifying paradox, his brutality smashed up against his cruel intolerance for imperfection.

When the water stopped, Michonne heard more of Rick's footsteps, getting further and further away.

And - as she'd commanded yet simultaneously feared - she heard her locks turning. Seconds later, the unmistakable sound of her front door slamming shut with a _thud_.

She burst into tears.

Of course. Rick had promised to give her whatever she needed, and apparently that also meant space. The silence echoed around her as she cried from her perch on her toilet seat.

She wasn't bleeding very heavily at all, not yet. But it was still humiliating.

Michonne reached over for her crumpled jeans, fishing around in the back pocket for her phone before kicking them back over against the wall. She unlocked the screen and opened her favorite contacts list, trying to get her emotions under control as she called Sasha.

"I'm so glad you finally called!" Sasha answered the phone already gushing with relief. "Where've you been all day? I couldn't get in touch and I couldn't get answers out of _anyone_ \- Michonne? _What's wrong?_ Do I need to come and fight somebody?"

Her best friend paused, alarm ringing through her voice as she listened to Michonne trying to quell her tears.

"I'm fine, Sash. I was with Rick." Michonne sniffled, harshly wiping her damp face. "And no, nothing like that is wrong."

She scoffed through her tears, rolling her eyes at herself.

"It's just...I started my period and now I'm stuck hiding in my bathroom on the toilet, bleeding like a pathetic idiot."

" _Ohhhhh shiiiiit._ " Sasha sounded like she was wincing with empathy as she paused to get a mental image. She could hear it in Michonne's voice. The situation had been triggering.

Michonne laughed despite her sadness. Her lip trembled as she fought off another wave of emotion, thinking about Negan again against her will. Of course, Rick was nothing like Negan. But the memories were never going to go away. And there was no telling what would set them off.

"Negan hated the sight of blood…" she whispered, staring at her crumpled jeans.

Sasha sighed hard. "Oh, 'Chonne. I'm so sorry. Did Rick...see?"

"And _then_ some. I'm so embarrassed, Sasha." Michonne crushed her eyes shut. " _Ugh,_ and I'm out of tampons!"

"Yikes. Okay, I'm gonna bring you some. And some cookies or something. _You're gonna be okay._ Crews can cover me for a while, fuck it." Sasha declared, referring to her EMT partner. "Where's Rick, now?"

"I maybe told him to leave me alone." Michonne winced, feeling gutted that Rick was actually gone. "So he did."

Hercules was mewing at the bathroom door now.

"You know he's probably gonna come back." Sasha reassured her softly. Michonne shook her head at no one, feeling tears stinging her eyes yet again. "That man is crazy about you. Plus, he was married for like, _over_ a decade! A little blood isn't gonna scare him off, trust me."

Sasha always knew what to say. "Thanks, boo."

Still, Michonne was afraid he'd decided to leave her alone for the rest of the night. There was no telling when she'd hear from him again. She hadn't exactly been sweet about it when she'd sent him away.

"Let me go sweet talk Crews into covering for me, okay? I'll be right there."

Just as she was about to agree to a hasty visit from her friend, the formerly battered survivor heard the sound of her locks turning in the front door, followed by it being opened and slammed shut again.

Michonne froze, her eyes widening at what she was hearing. "Sash? Hold that thought. I think Rick's back."

"Wait, _for real?_ Wow, that was fast."

Sasha strained to hear on the other side of the line as they both listened to Rick's footsteps making their way steadily down the hall toward them. Michonne was riddled with fear and anticipation. What could he possibly still want? God, was everyone right and he really _was_ crazy?

"Michonne?" His deep voice sounded out gently.

"What is it, Rick?" Michonne kept Sasha on the line, frowning with hesitation at the door. "Why'd you come back? I told you to leave me alone."

"Yeah. I know. And I will, if that's really what you want." He sounded surprisingly patient, but also determined. And hopeful. "But you're out of tampons, so I got you some. Overnight pads, too. The extra long kind, just in case..."

Michonne couldn't believe she was hearing those words wafting out to her through the door, coated in Rick's throaty cowboy drawl. She didn't even want to know how he knew all of that.

"He did _what…?_ " Sasha gasped from the other end of the phone line.

Michonne hung up on her.

"If you want me to go, you're gonna hafta tell me face-to-face, Michonne." He spoke again, and she could hear his boots dragging across the floor as he shifted on his feet. "I'm not leavin' until you talk to me, baby. Please?"

Rick was standing outside the door, Hercules at his feet, leaning against the frame as he listened out for Michonne.

He had driven like a maniac down the hill, anger with himself boiling in his stomach for not doing this like he'd had a mind to this morning. He charged into the drugstore with laser focus and headed straight for the sanitary products. Years of experience, coupled with the complete absence of any shame that might've been there once upon a time, helped him pinpoint exactly what he needed. He paid for her things, including more cat food, with a terse, passing glance at the cashier (a young gay man who was eyeing Rick's stubborn, semi-hard bulge through his pants) and headed right back to Michonne's.

Now that he was back here, he didn't want her to be embarrassed or angry with him, but he couldn't just 'go away'. He had to let her know that he was there for her, that this wasn't going to be like what she was probably expecting.

It hadn't solely been embarrassment in her eyes as she ran from him and the sight of her own blood, he'd recognized. It had been fear. Whatever Negan had done to her over the years, it was _bad_. Anger pulsed through him, but he pushed it downward, intent on seeing Michonne's face before he walked away from this bathroom door.

Rick stared at the door with steely determination, forming a bold plan to convince her that she was safe with him.

Finally, he heard the lock click slowly, uncertainly. Then the door opened just a crack.

Rick stepped back as Hercules squeezed through the narrow opening to rub himself around Michonne's ankles and calves. He was still holding the store bag with her products inside. He watched as her gaze slowly rose from the bag to his face, his fierce blues never leaving her glistening browns.

Michonne swallowed down her apprehension, her curiosity getting the better of her. She felt foolish, even as the look on his face made her heart flutter. Having wrapped a towel around her waist, she angled herself away from him, attempting to hide behind the door.

Rick wasn't having it.

He moved in through the door, gently pushing it open, forcing her to step back. Hercules purred and tangled himself up around their legs before popping plump and happy back out into the hall again and scurrying away.

She stared up at her silent, serious neighbor with wide, uncertain eyes as he closed the door behind him with a soft ' _click'_.

They were trapped in the narrow space of her guest bathroom together now. There was nowhere for Michonne to hide anymore.

Rick sat the plastic shopping bag with the tampons and pads inside down on the long sink counter. He plucked her phone from her fingers and set that aside too, continuing to back Michonne up toward the toilet. Then, slowly, the standing shower beyond it.

She could only stare up at him breathlessly, her brow creasing in wonder and confusion. He didn't say a word, only reached around her and began to slide the shower door open behind her, ignoring her jeans and everything else in the room. Once it was open enough for him to reach the faucets that were set at thigh-height into the charcoal tile, he lifted his other hand and gently pinned Michonne against the shower door by her stomach.

Then his low voice: "Hold still."

Rick was close enough that She smelled his musky cologne and the heat from today's sun in his skin, fused with her arousal and the first telltale signs of the exposure of her menstruation. It was a heady perfume.

Michonne obeyed him without question, holding as still as she could. She felt herself leaking finely between her legs, however, which were also beginning to tremble with yearning and anxious anticipation.

He said nothing else as he knelt slightly to turn on the shower faucet. Once he was satisfied that the water was getting hot enough, he shook his hand out and stood upright again - close.

The room steadily filled with steam as Michonne watched Rick. Still silent, he began to unbutton his shirt and step slowly out of his boots with the practiced ease of a man who'd been in situations like this many, many times over. It was a wonder to behold.

The shower was getting warmer and steamier at her back, but Michonne's curiosity and still-lingering humiliation held her to the spot, unable to take her eyes off of him. Anticipation was ghosting its tentacles all over her sensitive skin as she watched him shed layers, revealing his toned, tanned body to her inch by inch.

A few seconds later, Rick was standing naked before her. His cock was hard and his eyes were glinting under the track lighting and gathering steam. He pulled her tanktop up over her head and tossed it aside, then reached around and unhooked her bra, snapping it open with practiced fingers. He discarded it with her tank on top of her crumpled jeans, kissing her softly on the corner of her lips.

"Turn around…" he whispered huskily, stepping into her unabashedly. His engorged, dark pink head grazed her warm, wet center through a small opening in her towel. He didn't flinch.

Michonne hesitated, but eventually did as he asked. Rick watched her, his brow set and hard lust blooming inside those deep, unflappable cerulean pools of his. Dominance radiated from his every pore. But it wasn't frightening. He wasn't trying to intimidate her or force her. He was trying to show her something about himself.

When she was facing the foggy glass - now the only thing separating her from the hot shower and Rick's thick, unyielding length - she felt his hands loosening the knot in the towel around her waist. It fell away and she was exposed to the air and his roaming eyes. She froze, her stomach fluttering, her sex drenched, as Rick slid the door all the way open. Moist, billowing plumes of steam cascaded out to surround them both.

"Get in, baby." Rick commanded softly against her shoulder, standing over her.

Michonne bit her lip. The confusing sensations of lust and a deep yearning for the hot, steamy water to soothe her hollow, fluttering stomach ran through her body as she complied.

Rick followed closely behind her, stepping in under the shower heads perched high along the tiled wall.

The water spilled across their skin in a hot rush as he slid the door closed behind them, sealing them off from the rest of the world. He watched as her dark skin became slick with water, his cock stiffening even further before he turned her around to face him.

Michonne gasped when Rick leaned down and kissed her _hard_. He explored her mouth slowly with his tongue as he backed her up to the wall behind them.

Thin trails of blood mixed with rivulets of pearlescent precum washed away down the drain while Rick pinned Michonne against the steamed-over tile. He sank down a bit to open her legs, his arms flexing as he ran his hands across her skin until he found the juicy meat of her ass cheeks. She moaned into his mouth when he hoisted her upward, settling between her slick thighs and driving his big, pulsing length inside of her with passionate force. " _Mmmm, shit!"_

She had to brace herself by lacing her fingers into his wet hair and clinging to his strong neck. She cast her other hand about to slap blindly against the perspiring shower door.

Rick filled Michonne to the brim, hitting the back of her molten pussy with a hoarse grunt, still kissing her as though she was water in the desert.

She swooned. He felt so goddamned good inside.

She couldn't look down, not wanting to see what was washing away down his thighs. Michonne could only kiss him back - so grateful for exactly who he was, so turned on by him. She allowed all of her walls to crumble as her stoic neighbor began to fuck her into the tile under the sultry cascade.

Rick let go of her mouth and stared at her beautiful, glowing face as he drove himself into her over and over again, lifting her up to pound her into the tile with each thrust. His eyes were on fire. She forgot about the blood. She forgot about the painful memories. She lost herself in his eyes while he stroked into her so deep and hard that he sent fireworks skyrocketing through her pussy's every nerve ending.

The steamy water cloaked them in a quiet, hot dome of passion as Rick fucked Michonne in her guest shower without uttering a single word.

His wet hair hung in his eyes, his pink lips kissing every inch of her neck. She was so fucking hot, tight, and silky smooth inside, he was utterly lost. The lubrication of her menstrual blood made the experience ten times more intense, as he'd already known it would.

He buried his face into her neck, biting at her skin as he found himself slowing down to prolong the timing of his release. He wanted to cum inside her right now, she felt that good, but he was determined to give Michonne as much pleasure as she could take.

Michonne bounced on his cock, her ass vibrating in his firm grip. Her steamy, wet pussy swallowing him whole with each thrust of his hips against hers. "Don't stop, baby! _Oh my god_ , don't stop!"

Her hand slipped and she almost threw them off balance as she tried to ride him harder. Rick grinned, lifting his head to claim her lips again, drilling into her at full pelt, hitting the sweetest spot every time.

Until finally she broke apart, coming all over him in the most intense series of orgasms she'd experienced in a long, _long_ time. Michonne clung to Rick's neck as they both rode it out, her nails combing through his curls. When Rick came, he came quietly this time, almost gently. He gave a long, deep shudder as his ecstasy washed over him in a strong wave.

When it was over they settled there under the hot water, panting in the steam. He kissed her again as he pulled out of her slick folds. Slowly. Tenderly. Lovingly.

Then Rick set Michonne down on her feet, lifting his hands to rest against the tile on either side of her head. The water poured over his shoulders, down his chest, then finally down his pelvis, across his hips and crotch. Michonne watched a thin layer of blood wash away from his manhood, down his legs and toward the drain. Then he leaned over and let the water drive his curls into his face before shaking it out slightly and grabbing her by the hips to pull her under the spray.

He bathed her, silently, and then himself.

By the time he'd turned off the shower and started toweling them both off, Michonne was almost completely relaxed. And utterly smitten.

Rick wrapped her into a towel, securing it for her with a tight tug of the fabric into a knot. Then he pulled his jeans on and up to his narrow waist (leaving his underwear, shirt, and boots next to her discarded clothes) before scooping her up into his arms.

He passed near the sink as he nudged the door open with his foot. "Grab that for me, baby?"

Michonne found herself so relaxed (and so swayed by his attentiveness) that she did as he asked without question. He waited patiently for her to reach over and pick up the bag with her lady products inside, keeping her in a firm grip in both arms.

Rick carried Michonne upstairs to her bedroom, letting her stare at him with stars in her eyes the entire way.

Her curiosity was comfortably wrapped in the pleasant buzz of the thorough plundering he'd just given her. She was almost high on it as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into the heat still wafting off of his skin from the shower.

The handsome, dutiful new man in her life sat her down on her feet inside the bedroom and proceeded to pick out clothes for her. She watched him set up a little changing station on the seat of her armchair - her favorite cut-off jersey shorts, another tank top, this one purple. A pair of her most comfy underwear (Michonne was seized by the realization that he had probably watched her walking around in these things while on her period before). Then he opened the box of tampons, pulled out a Super strength, and sat it atop the neat little stack. A maxi pad beside it - her choice.

She marveled at him. He even seemed to intuit that the pounding he'd given her probably knocked her menstrual cycle all the way loose from whatever was holding it up.

Finally, the cherry on top. Michonne stared at him as he dug out a plastic scrunchie from her bedside table - the kind she used because it didn't tangle her locs or rip out errant hairs. And again, she realized that he had picked up on the fact that she liked her hair out of her face when she had cramps. Otherwise she'd play with it to the point of obsession to distract herself from the pain.

Rick didn't stop rendering Michonne speechless as he gently scooped her locks up into his elegant hands, wrapping the scrunchie around them and pulling the whole thing into a neat ponytail for her.

When he was done, he looked down at her, his lips pink, plump and tender from all the kissing they'd done in the shower. His eyes were gleaming. He was relaxed and happy, too, she could tell. Only his euphoria had more to do with Michonne letting him be with her this way. He didn't know what he would've done if she had rejected him and told him to leave her alone for the rest of the night.

Or for good.

He almost didn't want to think about it. He had done what he had to, and it had worked. She was back in his corner again, and he had been able to show her that he wasn't fuckin' around. It would take more than a little blood on his hands to drive him away from her.

He gave her another sweet kiss, reaching up to gently rub her stomach with his fingers. "Get dressed. I'm gonna make you somethin' for your cramps."

And he left her alone with her bewildered thoughts, smelling of masculinity and the lavender soap from the guest toiletries downstairs.

* * *

 _you say my name,_

 _as if you know what you're about to do…_

 _you know me better than anyone,_

 _and you always let me try_

 _(in fact, it's easy, now)_

 _in my ear_

 _finally, my savior is here..._

-'Savior', La Roux

* * *

Rick made Michonne a steaming cup of tea with lemon, honey, and ginger.

It always did the trick when Lori was having cramps. She was borderline anemic when she had her period, which meant she was irregular, and she had some of the worst cramps a woman could get.

He recalled perfecting the recipe over the years. Bringing his girlfriend - and then fiance, and then wife - a cup of tea while she lay curled up on the couch or in their bed, fatigued and grateful. In the later years of their marriage, those became their quietest, most reflective times. Times when they could still talk, without anger or resentment. Times when she was genuinely pleased to just be in his company, and visa versa, even though she was in pain and basically immobilized in his arms.

He found Michonne dressed, her hair still up in a ponytail, and changing her bandage when he made it back upstairs with her phone and the tea.

He sat the cup and phone down on the nightstand and she let her tanktop fall back down her torso, eyeing it appreciatively. "That smells amazing. You didn't have to make me _tea_ , Rick."

"I'm just bein' thorough…" he drawled with a wink.

She smiled brightly at him, unable to help herself from walking over to wrap her arms around his neck.

"You'll feel better when you drink this. Trust me." Rick kissed her as he spoke, trying to quell his desire for her. He wrapped his arms around her but didn't pull her too close. He'd become distracted if he did. She had been through an ordeal today and enough was enough. It was time to earn this, like he'd promised himself he would this morning. "It's my special recipe. It'll cure what ails ya, I guarantee it."

Michonne gazed up at him, still in awe of what he'd done tonight. "Where the hell did this come from, Rick Grimes?"

He chuckled, shifting on his feet with her smooth, warm body in his arms.

Rick shrugged, returning her gaze, a fascinating, almost ancient wisdom making his blue eyes gleam. "I was married for fifteen years, Michonne. I went through hell and back with my wife, Lori." Michonne felt empathy course through her at his words. She listened intently as he continued: "One thing I figured out…"

And he continued kissing her, finally giving in and pulling her closer, letting her feel his still lingering need. Michonne gasped, riveted, clinging to him.

"Sex the first night of a woman's period can be fuckin' _phenomenal_." He undulated his hips against hers, swallowing hard. "You felt amazing, baby. You're gorgeous. You're the sexiest woman I've ever met." Her heart fluttered when he hit her with a wicked smirk against her full lips, growling: "And I'm a grown man. I told you - gross stuff doesn't bother me."

Michonne laughed, kissing him fiercely over and over again, so happy she could burst.

* * *

"Negan punched me so hard when he found out that I was pregnant the first time...I had a miscarriage."

Michonne felt Rick's body stiffen as she massaged his curls with her fingers.

It was forty-five minutes later. She was sitting on the bed, her back propped up with pillows. He was laying next to her, his head cradled in her lap, watching her toes move around at the end of her long, smooth legs. He decided to keep quiet and let her tell her story - he wanted to know everything about her that she was willing to share - but he began to boil inside. Negan Wolfe had to die. There was no other conclusion in his mind about it.

She sighed hard, trying not to cry. She let her fingers prowl through Rick's thick, soft hair to soothe the assault of the memories so she could get through this.

He stroked her thighs, waiting. Angry. But patient.

"After that...I told myself that if it ever happened again...he could go to hell." Michonne bit her lip hard as her own rage began to race through her. "I _kept_ my baby. Negan found me again, but I got Andre _out_. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, Rick."

"I'm so sorry, Michonne..." he whispered, kissing and squeezing her thighs.

He just kept thinking about his own son. How, if _he_ had somehow been in Michonne's position, there would be very little anyone could do to keep him from killing everybody to get Carl to safety. Knowing how strong and defiant Michonne was, it was a wonder Carol had managed to keep her from doing exactly that to Negan. The trauma of being a battered woman, on top of the tremendous loss she'd suffered, was nothing to scoff at. It only made him fall harder, realizing how much she must have gone through to escape from that monster alive.

Michonne wiped away a single tear, shaking her head as she gazed down at the side of his handsome face. His brow was furrowed. He was clutching at her, glaring at her feet. He was angry for her. She felt herself falling deeper and deeper for him - soothed by his tea, his tenderness, and his presence alone.

"I'm not sorry. I did what I had to do." She caressed his fuzzy chin with her thumb, prodding him to turn and look at up at her. "Just like, if you hadn't come back tonight, I would've accepted it. I could've."

She didn't know what she was trying to say. In her own twisted way, she was trying to let him know how much it meant to her that he _did_ come back. Rick frowned harder.

"I _didn't_ think you'd come back." Michonne confessed, now avoiding his gaze. "But I'm glad you did."

Rick sat up abruptly, turning around to prop himself against the head of the bed next to her. She gasped as he reached over and pulled her into him, snaking an arm around her waist to cup her ass in his palm. He hoisted her up against his legs and torso, letting her get comfortable, silently glaring down at her as she rested against his still bare chest. Finally, he reached up with his free hand to lift her chin so that she met his gaze.

"You don't know me very well, then, Michonne." She was mesmerized by his lips and his low, intense drawl. His eyes burned into hers and she found herself snuggling closer to him, completely drawn in by him. "I'm a man of my word." He kissed her, his tongue darting across her bottom lip as he sucked it into his mouth with a hushed groan. "I said _anything_ , baby. I meant it."

Michonne was well into her post menstrual pain flow, but Rick still managed to make her aroused. There was nothing they could do about it, but she attached herself to his strong body tightly anyway. They made out hotly for a few breathless moments, her sensitive nipples zinging with electric need as he gave her ass a squeeze and stroked her neck.

When they pulled apart, Rick continued to glare at her, making her stay still in his arms.

"You want me to kill him?"

Michonne's heart began to thump in her chest, tingling from head to toe, as Rick's low, serious words echoed in the quiet room. He waited, holding her close, watching for her response.

She was torn. _God,_ he was gorgeous. And dangerous. Everything in her was screaming ' _yes'_ \- but she couldn't help thinking of everything that would mean. Like running. Like constant danger. Like having her child on the road indefinitely.

Rick could see the questions gathering in her large, beautiful brown eyes, and he stayed her with gentle pressure against her hip.

"Michonne. I know you're ready to run." He told her quietly. "I've seen the passports. I know that Camaro isn't just for Andre."

Michonne swallowed hard. She couldn't speak.

Rick tried again.

"Carol asked me to help her find out what he's up to - _why_ he's comin' after you, _now_ of all times." He shook his head, pushing a tuft of air through his nostrils. "But I don't have to. He _will_ keep comin' after you. And Andre, and Sabine. And he won't stop. You and I both know it'll get worse before we even get wind of what he's _really_ up to."

She knew he was right. She got a chill suddenly, despite having been warmed and soothed by the delicious tea earlier.

"What are you saying, Rick…?" Michonne breathed.

He stared at her, not knowing how else to spell it out for her except to just go for it. He had made it this far with her. He couldn't lose her now. It didn't matter what happened. As long as he had Michonne, and they could keep Andre safe, Rick would be _there_. His purpose was as clear as day to him, now.

" _We_ _don't_ _have to do this Carol's way_ , Michonne." He lulled her with his passionate drawl. "We could go rogue. Take those passports, take Andre - and run." She felt her world expanding and jetting to unseen heights as he spoke, clutching at her with his strong hands. "And if you want me to...I'll kill him. Negan. All you have to do is ask. I'll do anything you want."

He wanted to say it. That he was falling in love with her. But he decided to show her instead.

And Michonne decided to show _him_.

What she was hiding in her trunk. She owed him that before she gave him her answer.

"Come with me…"

Rick frowned as she dislodged herself from him and stood up from the bed. She reached for his hand as he stood up with her.

Hercules stopped licking his paws on the seat of her armchair to watch as Michonne led Rick from the room - headed downstairs to the garage.

* * *

They were standing in her dark, cool garage, next to the trunk of the vintage muscle car.

Rick had felt in his gut that she'd been leading him to this exact spot the moment she brought him downstairs. Now they were here, on either side of the trunk of the matte black Camaro. The tarp was piled in a heap somewhere near Michonne's feet.

Rick stared at her, and she him.

She took a deep breath and knelt down to feel under the trunk. When she found the key, she stood upright again and unlocked the trunk with shaking hands. He stepped closer, tearing his eyes from her to look down into the trunk as she opened it. It looked like a normal, empty trunk - until she removed the covering to reveal a hidden compartment stacked to the brim with cash.

Rick's eyebrows lifted up into his still damp curls. "Damn."

"Before I left Negan," Michonne began, clutching the key to her chest. "I stole two million dollars. I had help. This really smart guy named Eugene. He worked for Negan." She watched him for his reaction as she spoke next: "And Carol."

Rick's gaze rose to hers, pinning her to the spot. "Carol?"

Why was he not surprised? Carol's words on the roof suddenly rang true and obvious to him as he waited for Michonne's explanation.

"Negan doesn't know about the money. At least, he can't know. Carol convinced Eugene to...to…"

She couldn't say it. The memory of it was enough to make her want to scream. She had done such horrible things to escape Negan with her sanity and her son. And his money.

Rick immediately walked up to her, taking her into his arms and pulling her close. He ignored the trunk full of money for a moment, forcing her to look at him. "Michonne...you can tell me. I'm here to protect you. Help you." He kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings to her to soothe her nerves. "Negan can't hurt you as long as I'm around. Tell me."

Staring down at his bare chest, Michonne kept going. She had to get this out. She had to tell him the truth. She wouldn't be able to ask him to do what he told her he would upstairs if she didn't. She had already shown him the money. There was no going back, now.

"Eugene took the fall for me." She swallowed down her guilt, her nails digging into his arms against her will as she fought off the memories. "He's dead now. Negan killed him. He was some kind of computer genius. One of Negan's favorites. He set off this virus...it hid the money and got he out for me...and now it's here."

She looked down at the trunk full of money. Blood money.

"Sitting here. Blood on my hands." Michonne lifted her watery gaze back up to Rick's, imploring him. "So...if you get yourself mixed up with me, Rick, _this_ is what you're getting mixed up in. _No one_ wants to kill Negan Wolfe more than I do." Her large, dark eyes bored into his, her voice deepening as tears flowed down her flawless cheeks. "But if we run...we'd be running for our lives."

Rick exhaled hard and slow, gripping her tighter against him. He clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping from hers to her lips. "Ask me." He growled.

Michonne went breathless, but she managed to whisper: "Kill him for me, Rick."

"Alright." He kissed her fiercely, breathing through his nostrils, squeezing her ass in his strong hands.

Michonne melted against him, elated, turned on, rescued - and falling head over heels in love.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Once again, I live and die for your amazing reviews!**

 **I've enabled anonymous asks on my tumblr (kendrawriter) so if you have specific questions about anything, just give me a hollar!**

 **I make no apologies for this chapter.**

 **I told you, this will be a Rick and Michonne you've never seen before. Love is that deep in my head canon. Y'all know if canon Rick had to, he'd get his hands dirty for his boo. I'm just saying!**

 **Next up:**

 **FINALLY. We meet Mr. Wolfe.**

 **And we find out just how Carol was able to convince Michonne not to slice his head off years ago…**

 **As always, you'll find soundtrack and visuals on the ole tumblr. Thanks for reading!**

 **-Kendra**


	17. the promise

**WARNING:**

 **NOT. SAFE. FOR. WORK.**

 **Or feels…**

 **Potentially triggering mentions of domestic violence ahead, but plenty of steamy Richonne to make up for it. I know I said this one would be about Negan, but...I just couldn't resist! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _you're scared to be lonely_

 _'specially in the night_

 _I'm scared that I'll miss you_

 _it happens every time..._

 _even though we're going through it_

 _and it makes you feel alone_

 _just know that I would die for you_

 _baby I would die for you, yeah_

 _I would die for you_

 _I would lie for you_

 _keep it real with you_

 _I would kill for you, my baby_

-'Die For You', The Weeknd

* * *

Rick was still kissing Michonne in her garage.

He couldn't stop.

He breathed deeply, hushed pushes of hot air escaping his nostrils as his tongue roamed around hers slowly. Her lips were so soft, damp and cool. She'd stopped crying, leaving her cheeks delicate to the touch and flawlessly smooth.

She commanded every ounce of his focus. She overloaded his senses. She smelled faintly like shea butter and arousal and pure, feminine musk. She felt like some otherworldly mixture of velvet curves and silk valleys.

He was definitely in love with her. It was a fast, unstoppable spiral of lust, obsession, possessiveness and utter devotion. So strong all he could do was hold on for dear life.

He could die any day; he wanted to die _hers_.

Michonne's freshly showered and lotioned body was pressed against his, her breasts rising and falling against his bare chest through her tanktop as she squirmed wantonly in his iron grip. Her silken skin warming and purring underneath his touch as he groped her everywhere his fingers could claim flesh. She was a slinky, sexy, breathless goddess in his arms. He couldn't let her go. He knew they were headed for trouble, and she was probably exhausted, but he needed to exorcise his insatiable desire for her - just a little bit more. Just a little bit.

Rick gave her a squeeze and she moaned for him, causing his blood to pump in a sudden swell to his eager member.

"Rick…" Michonne whispered softly against his lips, further egging on his erection by saying his name just the way he liked it. "Are you sure?"

He nipped at her mouth a few times before answering, his hand traveling the valley of her toned curves until he took hold of her ass. He massaged her there, pressing her against his hardening length, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm _sure_ , Michonne. As long as _you_ are."

Years ago, Rick was a different man. But he suspected, if it was _Michonne_...he would kill Negan Wolfe anyway, if he had somehow managed to meet her back then. Scratch that. He _knew_ in his gut that he'd have spotted her from a mile away. Though his life had been drastically different and he had things to lose; people to live for; he'd have been just as drawn to her, even then. Her stoic sadness, mesmerizing strength; radiant beauty. Had he known her then, and found out what Negan was doing to her...maybe the Rick Grimes from those years would've done everything in his power to throw the weight of the law behind the problem. But knowing how strong her pull was, it was also _very_ possible that no motherfucker on earth could keep him from slicing that asshole's throat and watching him bleed out, staring into his eyes until he was good and dead. In the end, it didn't matter much.

Rick's righteous rage made him one hundred percent certain that he would honor her request _now_.

Michonne swallowed thickly at his serious, confident tone. She stared into his intense blue eyes, getting lost in them, like always.

He was warm and sturdy, holding her tightly, staring her down. Her head was swarming with emotions - exhilaration, desire, doubt. There was one more thing he needed to know. One more step down a dangerous road.

"Then, there's something else we should talk about."

Rick exhaled, clenching his jaw, curious despite his stubborn hard-on. He had to get ahold of his gargantuan appetite for her. It felt like climbing Mount Everest, though.

"Lay it on me, sweetheart." He joked to break the tension, grinning slowly before hungrily taking another kiss.

Michonne couldn't help returning his fervor, her body rendered nothing short of confused. He was going to frustrate her if he didn't stop. She couldn't have him like she wanted him, on the night she wanted him the most. The night he turned out to be her knight in dark, sexy armor. He was definitely crazy - and she definitely loved it.

But if he really _was_ serious, he needed to know his options.

"Come back into the house..." she breathed as he started kissing her neck, losing himself in her again. He grazed her pretty thighs with his big, thick dick, unable to help himself. With difficulty, she managed to stop herself from reaching down to feel it pulsing against her palm. "Mmm...I'll make it worth your while, I promise, crazy."

He loved her twisted sense of humor. And she knew damned well he was crazy about her. The best thing about Michonne was that she didn't care. Rick chuckled, calming himself enough to nod and step back - only just. Instead of letting her walk, he scooped her up into his arms again. He couldn't let her go yet.

"Where to?"

Michonne smirked, falling still harder for him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hall closet." She answered in the dark.

He closed the trunk and stowed the key in his jeans pocket before gathering Michonne tightly against him, at ease with the weight of her fit body, relishing the feel of her heavenly skin. He carried her out of the garage, back into the house without another word.

* * *

A few minutes later, they were standing in her downstairs hallway, her back to his front. She was showing him the contents of the little black book he'd found that morning while looking for cat food.

Rick's arms were wrapped around her, holding her tightly, warming her to her core. His fuzzy chin and hot, soft lips rested against her exposed shoulder. He pressed them to her skin around the thin strap of her tank top every now and then as she turned the pages slowly. Sometimes there were names (obvious cover names, to protect the business interests and life of the contact). Sometimes just numbers. Sometimes locations without context or clear addresses. Some of them crossed out.

They were looking at the J's now.

 _Jesus._

 _Jadis._

 _Jamaica._

"I think Carol's gonna go for the Code." She told him. "It's something Negan had Eugene use sometimes to pull off really dangerous jobs. The kinda shit that would get us both blown to smithereens by a car bomb if he fucked up." She shook her head slowly at the turn her life had taken when she met that man. She sighed somberly and pressed on. "It's like this secret channel you call. But you aren't just given the number. You have to find it. Break it. Then you put out your offer and see who takes the bait. Since she's pretty much confirmed Negan's putting a hit out on me, she'll try to find the keys to the Code."

Michonne talked and Rick listened, absorbing it all like the silent, dedicated cop that he was. Used to be.

"Maybe we could find it first. I figured maybe we could find someone who knows. Get them to get us in." She turned the pages, frowning, leaning against him, remembering. "Some of them I can still trust. Jesus is good, despite a pretty grisly reputation that he worked very hard to gain."

She tossed off a small, sad little laugh, remembering the 'good old days'.

When Jesus would watch her, secretly worried, as she practically wasted away with what she could only describe as an impending sense of doom while she was with Negan. He had been one of her only friends. Oh, he was ruthless. If anyone ever had an inkling of a _thought_ of crossing him, he wouldn't hesitate to have them chopped up and dumped in the ocean somewhere - or worse, if you could imagine. And Jesus had a very active imagination. But he was also kind of sweet, to be honest. Gay and fierce. A deadly assassin, before he became a crime lord. Young, sexy, and loyal. Honest, despite his chosen profession.

An ally, in the end. He had helped her, in the only way he could, when she was at her lowest. He gave her company, an open ear, a closed mouth, and even a 'harmless' connection here or there if he was in the mood.

She remembered Jesus fondly. Others, not so much.

"Some of them...like Jesus...I might even have told my real name if I hadn't had to disappear without warning. But it was the only way I could get out. I don't even know if he'll want to hear from me." Michonne fought off a wave of emotion. "Others, like Jadis? Last resort, _maybe_. But if I'm smart, probably not ever. Old scores and everything."

Rick nodded against her skin, giving her a supportive squeeze. He said nothing, though, letting her speak for however long she needed to. He knew what she was getting at, and he was still processing the information she'd given him. She'd gotten him thinking.

Her trusting him was a big deal. He didn't want to rush it, or make her feel pressured. He wanted her to know that he was serious. For him, there was no going back. He was in this. Until she or some other circumstance beyond his control forced him out of this. And even then, he didn't think he could manage to stay out for long.

"And what's 'Jamaica'?" He asked, giving her shoulder another comforting kiss.

Michonne was silent for a moment, glad for Rick's body heat to soothe her aching muscles.

Jamaica.

Michonne both loved and hated Carol for that night in Negan's heavily secured compound at Port Antonio. Still, it had resulted in her eventual escape, one way or the other, and the forging of a strange friendship that she didn't even know if she had a right to claim anymore. But she didn't really have the energy to get into it now. Not after everything that happened today, and tonight.

"That's another story for another day." She was tired. Rick felt so good - too good. _She_ felt maybe she could fall asleep in his arms, right here in the hallway. "I just wanted to show you this because if we're doing this, we'll need help. Protection. Favors. And the Code isn't exactly something we'll find floating around on reddit. It's...it's a lot, Rick."

Rick patiently reached up to gently pry the book from Michonne's hands, closing it and tucking it into the unoccupied back pocket of his jeans. Then he turned her around, folding her up against him. He cupped her face, leaning into her. "I'm not gonna ask you to go back to your old life, Michonne. You got out, and I'm not takin' you back in."

"But...we might _have_ to. If we're going to survive this - "

"Maybe you're right, but why don't you let me try things my way first?" He offered her a small, confident smile. "I have connections, too, ma'am. I may be a burnout, but my name's still good with some people. I know about somethin' very similar to the Code. I bet I could get us a lead on it. Let me try. Okay, baby?"

Michonne melted against him, willingly giving in. Too tired to argue. Too swept up in him to do anything but trust, for now. "Okay. Be a cowboy about it, then."

Rick chuckled again, smitten. He could kiss her all night, but she was practically dead on her feet.

He pulled her from the closet doorway and she let him, falling into his arms as he picked her up again and nudged the door closed with his bare foot. Hercules appeared out of seemingly nowhere, as was his apparent party trick, prancing alongside Rick as he carried Michonne upstairs. The fat little thing climbed closely behind, sensing that it was bed time.

It was still early, but Michonne was already drifting off as Rick got her into her room and carefully placed her on the bed. Her windows showed nothing but the street lights breaking up the milky darkness outside now. Her cat jumped up onto the firm mattress and made himself a home at her feet as Rick swept up the covers, lifted her legs, and tucked her in.

He knelt beside the nightstand, stroking her cheek, taking another taste of her lips to tide him over until she was energized enough to kiss back. "I'm gonna do some work for a while." He whispered, watching her eyes slip closed and her beautiful face relax. Michonne nodded, snuggling into her pillow. "I'll be right downstairs, though. Get some rest, baby…"

She was already falling fast asleep.

Rick exhaled roughly, falling totally head over heels for Michonne Williamson.

He felt like he'd been waiting for her forever, trapped in darkness and grief, alone. Existing rather than actually living. Then she came along and knocked the wind right out of him. She was new air to breathe; the key to a new existence he had given up thinking was possible.

Yeah. He would kill to keep her; die to protect her, and everything she loved. It was a done deal.

Rick watched her for a long while, kneeling there, listening to her slow, steady breathing.

Then, unable to stop himself, a swell of devotion rising inside him so fierce it was hard to breathe, he leaned in and drawled in a husky whisper against her lips: "You're _mine_ , Michonne...and I'm yours...anybody gets in the way of that? They're gonna _lose_. I promise."

She didn't stir.

Rick nuzzled his face into hers to say goodnight, inhaling her spicy sweet scent one last time. Then he turned off her lamp and left her alone to dream - headed downstairs to work.

* * *

Once again, Rick found himself nursing a full blown erection he could do nothing about.

But it had been worth it.

Every minute of tonight had been worth every minute of whatever was coming. He was with Michonne, now. He felt...free. He felt like he'd never felt before. He couldn't put a name to it, but it didn't matter. He was going to hold on to the feeling for as long as he possibly could. And _damn_...he hoped it was forever. Maybe it made him crazy. He'd been crazy for a long time now. Since he lost everything. But like his intense erection, there was nothing to be done about it.

It was just how he felt. _Michonne_ was his everything now. He would not lose her.

Rick headed downstairs, still hard but ignoring it. He pulled the little black book out of his jeans pocket and stood at the foot of the stairs, thumbing through the pages, his keen eyes memorizing some interesting names or the location of some of the numbers.

He meant what he'd said about trying things his way first, and not wishing to thrust Michonne back into a life she'd worked so hard and given up so much to escape alive with her son unharmed. Besides which, he suspected she still wasn't one hundred percent certain of the kind of life they'd have to lead indefinitely if she was accepting his offer. He wanted her to sleep, and think, and have the time to change her mind if she needed to.

But he also knew the severity of the situation. He hadn't wanted to exhaust her even more than she already was with more talk about her tragic past, but Michonne had been right. If they were really going to get to Negan like she hoped, they'd need heavy duty help.

First, though, he had to cover his bases.

Rick closed the book and put it back where she had stored it properly. They'd get to it, when they needed it.

He pulled his cell phone out of his other back pocket, now thumbing through his contacts until he reached Glenn's number. He had a long checklist to get through tonight, but he was thankful for the distraction from obsessing over Michonne.

Instead he would obsess over the dual cases he was now working. His erection was already easing off as he listened to Glenn's line ring.

"Yo. What's up, boss man?" Glenn answered, yawning. It sounded like he was driving - probably on his way to make a delivery of either the pizza or cannabis variety. Or both. Still working since they last spoke, probably. Typical Glenn.

"You better be on your way home to get some shut eye before you start on this case." Rick drilled into him straight away.

He could practically hear Glenn's eyes rolling. "Hey man, last time I checked, my dad's name is Junseok and you ain't him." The mouthy kid grumbled, and Rick heard the tires on his little red whip making tracks as he made a hard turn. "You better not be calling to give me another assignment, either."

"Nah, just an update on the other two." The ex cop ignored his inside man's testy tone, strolling through Michonne's dark house toward his cluster of old boxes still sitting in the foyer. After turning on the light, he adjusted his still semi-hard dick and knelt down, opening one of them up. "You remember that job we ended down at the docks a few months ago?"

There was a pause, accompanied by the ambient sounds of wind and road as Glenn thought about it.

"Yeah, the nasty pileup. You dumbass, you rushed in before I could get there!" He laughed and it was Rick's turn to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, sticks and stones, smartass. Anyway, you were able to tip me off because of that text ring you got hooked into, remember?"

That had been his first time dealing with something like that, but he knew trends in criminal activity. If it could work for low level drug dealers like Glenn and fuckboy sex traffickers like the ones he beat to shit down at the docks, he was willing to bet it could work for big time crime lords. Nasty ones like Negan Wolfe still lived by a code, and maybe that would lead him to _the_ Code.

"Yeah. I remember." Glenn spoke up seriously. "To be honest, I was thinking the same thing. I was gonna go see my boy T-Dog tomorrow, check it out."

T-Dog had been the one that had hooked Glenn up the last time. He didn't make for a very good gangster. But he was in good with almost everyone who knew anyone.

"Keep talkin'..." Rick braced his phone between his chin and shoulder, pulling out one of the dusty case files stacked up inside the box he knelt in front of. This one on Rosita. He opened it up, his eyes ghosting across the neat type filling the first few crinkled pages.

"Well you know he can't keep his mouth shut. I'll sample him some of this sexy ass hybrid I just got. You get him high enough and he's a chatterbox, like my ma." Glenn joked sarcastically. "I was gonna ask him about delivery leads, tell him I'm in the market, I hate my boss, yadda, yadda…"

"Good thinkin'." Rick agreed, setting the one file aside and reaching in for another, this one full of photos from the scene of her disappearance. "Get him high and get him talkin', then. We're lookin' for _top secret_ shit, here, Glenn. None of the amateur stuff. Dig deep. Look for shit you'd have to decode. You're smart, so I'm countin' on ya."

"I _got_ it, boss. Don't worry. You still think this is a 'two birds, one stone' type sitch, don't you?" Glenn pressed, probably going well over the speed limit.

"You read my mind. Take your foot off the gas."

Rick tried and failed to suppress a cop's instinct to tell him to slow the fuck down. Or a fatherly one. They'd been interchangeable, once upon a time in his life. He frowned, examining the photos and standing up, his phone still propped against his shoulder. He carried the open file into the kitchen to search Michonne's drawers as he listened to Glenn scoff.

"What are you, Super Cop?" Glenn complained again. But he agreed to do as much digging as possible into the secret message ring thing if it saved him the stressful bother of going too deep undercover.

"Start with anyone new in town, any unusual activity on anyone's turf they aren't too happy about." Rick ordered, ignoring the insult, thinking of the karate kid he and Tobin faced at the hospital. "And while you're at it, see if you can catch a whiff of our underworld kidnappers among all the emojis."

Glenn took his marching orders and agreed to update him as soon as he had anything concrete.

Rick put his cell phone aside and dug through Michonne's kitchen until he found a box of blue tac adhesive and opened it up to peel some off. Then he grabbed the file he'd stashed on the island, along with his phone, and carried his hoard into the living room.

He started tacking up the photos, peeling off tiny bits of the sticky blue stuff and attaching them to the walls. He'd have to beg Michonne's forgiveness later. While he was at it, he called Shane.

Rick stared at a photo of Rosita's abandoned backpack on the side of a steep hill, where she'd fallen quite a ways. On a hike when she'd been taken. She put up a fight. But the tracks were corrupted. Whoever took her knew what he was doing, despite his obvious rage. Shane's line went to voicemail.

" _This is Shane Walsh, King County Sheriff's Department. Don't be shy, now."_

Rick clenched his jaw, disappointed and yet unsurprised. He thought he had squashed his estranged best friend's reluctance yesterday morning with the mention of Rosita, but apparently not. Maybe he was working. Maybe he was just ignoring Rick's calls. Either way, Rick wasn't happy.

The line beeped. "Hey. Call me back as soon as you get this. I need everything you know about super guns."

He hung up, irritated. This wasn't going to be like last time, Shane had to understand that. _They could solve this._ He didn't like having to waste his time convincing him, though. If he couldn't help, Rick would just have to do this on his own. With Michonne. He'd rather her company anyway, as much as he reluctantly missed the old days. When he had a partner behind the badge, backing him up.

Rick didn't have a badge anymore. But he did have someone - someone _lovely_ \- backing him up.

He called the next on his hit list as he hung more pictures until the file was empty. Andrea Jones. He didn't have to listen to her line ring for long, making his way back into the foyer to retrieve more pieces of his past for re-examination.

"Mr. Grimes? Tell me you've got news."

Her voice as urgent as ever, she answered on the second ring. Clearly, she'd been waiting for his call.

"Hey, Ms. Jones. Andrea. I do and I don't."

"Are you gonna make me get a translator after a ten hour shift, Rick?"

Rick sighed, kneeling down to root through another box. He explained his thinking.

"It means I think you're right. This wasn't a normal roundup." He began, pausing his work to be straight with her. She wasn't paying him to be coy. "It was a crime of passion. Part of a pattern. Someone went after her angry. Maybe even patched her up, with the intention of keepin' her for a while...takin' some shit out on her."

"My god…" Andrea gasped. "Well, do you have any idea _who?_ "

"I'm workin' on it." He told her, pausing to phrase his next piece of news carefully. "I might have a lead, though. I think I've seen this guy before. Long time ago. When I was a cop. We never caught him, Andrea. And there's a reason for that. I don't think the cops workin' your sister's case ever intended to solve it. Or someone spooked 'em enough to let well enough alone."

"Jesus Christ. I knew it. " There was a long moment of silence as she absorbed his declaration. Then finally: "But _you_ will now. You _have_ to, Rick." She beseeched him. "Do you...do you think she's still...alive?"

Rick swallowed hard, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he settled on his haunches in Michonne's foyer.

"I don't know for sure. But like you, I'm hopin' so." He finally told her at least a little of what she wanted to hear. "Either way, I'm gonna do everything I can to find out who did this. And I need your help." He leveled with her. It was all hands on deck, now. "Go to work. Do your thing, like normal. But you keep your ears to the ground and your eyes peeled. You know where to look for corruption, I'm sure, Ms. Jones. Let me know if you think of somethin'."

"Okay." She sounded like she was reassuring herself, now. " _Okay._ Just find out who took my baby sister. And - god - if you find her alive, I'll fucking give you my salary for the rest of my fucking life, I swear."

He chuckled somberly. She had a real foul mouth for an attorney. He liked her. "Lucky for you, I'm not into indentured servitude, ma'am. I'll keep in touch, alright? Get some sleep, if you can."

"Not a fucking wink, even if I wanted to. But _thank you._ For everything."

"Don't thank me yet. I took the case. I'm gonna finish it. _Go to sleep._ That's an order."

Andrea huffed over the line. "Fine. Anybody ever tell you, you're an asshole?"

"Not in the last forty-eight hours, nope. Goodnight, Andrea."

"Goodnight, Rick."

They ended the call.

After a moment in which he gathered himself, Rick went back to work, hunting for the answers he never found two years ago.

* * *

Michonne woke up suddenly, her heart pounding.

Eyes wide, she shot up in the dark, breathing hard, looking around.

She was alone.

She'd been dreaming of Negan. Of that night six short years ago, in that damned compound worlds away. A paradise and a prison. Surrounded by guards and trees, opulence and the stink of Negan's drinking.

She'd been dreaming about actually, this time, following through on her cold, high determination to slice his head off with the katana he'd bought for her at auction. He shouldn't have taught her how to use it. A single smooth, hard motion. That's all it would take.

And his smug fucking head would come rolling off his bed, leaving his naked body behind under the white silk sheets he slept on alone, always. Blood everywhere, staining all that pristine, expensive silk.

But not a sound, except a dull _thud, thud, thud._

But that had been just a dream. A garish, macabre, disturbing dream that had shocked her awake. It wasn't the horror of beheading a man that shocked her. It was the _exhilaration_ she felt at finally having done it to Negan. The _release_. If she hadn't discovered what sex with Rick felt like, she would say the feeling that forced her awake was better than an orgasm. She wanted Negan dead.

And Rick had promised her he would be the man to do it.

Michonne lay back in bed, still shocked at herself. She squirmed around, feeling the dull ache of her period coursing through her body as the blood continued to flow. Rick's soothing tea and attentive affection both in and out of the hot shower had worn off with her nap. Her inner thighs ached from all that fucking they'd been doing. Still, every second of it had been worth it. Tonight had been...she just couldn't.

Where had Rick Grimes come from? She didn't know, but she was beginning to feel as though he was meant just for her. He certainly looked at her and handled her like he was. Or maybe...like _she_ was meant for _him_. She loved the possessiveness in his iron grip. The care and focus he gave to simply touching her skin. His willingness to jump off a cliff with her. It made her tingle from head to toe.

She looked over at her cell phone on the night stand, reaching for it to look at the time.

She'd been asleep for four hours. It was just past eleven. But it had been a much needed rest. She was still tired, but she didn't think she could go back to sleep if she tried. She thought for a second about calling Sasha, or checking on Andre. But she knew the former would be working and the latter was probably engaging in his own well-earned sleep. Besides, Sabine would no doubt lay into her if she caught them talking so late. The points on her needy, bad mother score board would go up yet again.

But she didn't want to sit here alone in the dark, talking to nobody. Consumed by her thoughts.

She missed Rick.

Since she couldn't have him the way she really wanted him, she wanted him to touch her. Hold her. Kiss her, talk to her. Maybe let her take him in her mouth. She wanted him to drive away the sick, malicious thoughts of killing Negan that were now wreaking havoc in her mind.

And with them, the strong, certain fear that _he_ was going to kill _her_ before she and Rick could get to him. Take her son. Damage him beyond repair. All because she had somehow let her guard slip, over all these years of domestic comfort. It was all just the illusion of safety, she realized with heavy, sinking dread.

She loved Carol like nobody's business, she couldn't deny, but she regretted leaving Negan alive.

He was too smart. Too evil. Too obsessed with power. Retribution. Payback.

And he did not like leaving loose ends. Ever.

He was the kid on the playground torturing insects under a microscope in the glaring sun. He _hunted_ rather than simply executed. He wasn't done with her yet. Not by a long shot.

Michonne got out of bed, forcing these terrifying thoughts from her mind. She wanted Rick.

She thought about the attachment to him that had crept up on her between the night he rescued her from the man in her closet to now. It wasn't altogether foreign. When Michonne loved, she loved _hard_. That was just how she was wired. It was how Negan had ensnared her in the first place.

She barely knew Rick, but he was just so... _god_. No words could describe how she felt. He was so dark, but he was _good_ underneath all that gloom in his eyes, and it made him irresistible to her. It was as true and scary and heavy in her stomach as her wrenching menstrual cramps.

Speaking of which - Michonne made a detour to her bathroom, where she changed her tampon and took a Midol, rinsing her mouth out with tap water from her sink. She wiped her chin and lips and headed downstairs in her bare feet and skimpy cutoff shorts.

* * *

When Michonne made it downstairs, she spotted Rick leaning against the back of her couch, a hard line set into his handsome jaw.

Her entire living room had been transformed.

Her walls were covered with pictures, diagrams, papers with notes and maps with red marks adorning them. Her box of blue tac was sitting empty on her marble coffee table behind Rick.

He had been serious when he'd whispered that he was going to work as she fell into the black abyss of deep sleep four hours ago, then. And, by the looks of it, he'd been busy.

She looked to her right and saw that the four boxes they'd carried over here from his house were indeed all empty. Open and sitting askew in her foyer by the door.

"Wow…" she murmured, turning to let her gaze fall across his now attentive figure. "What have you been up to, mister?"

Rick rose slowly from his leaning position against the back of the couch, taking a step toward her. He looked ruggedly handsome. Bare chested, his tight abs leading down to his snug jeans, long legs, and that familiar cock print she'd come to think of with a hint of possessiveness of her own. His curls were a bit disheveled even though he had run a hand through them to take them out of his face. Still, the thick, loosely coiled locs ignored him, one or two hanging stubbornly close to his gorgeous blue eyes.

"Workin' our case…" He answered in a deep, low drawl, that familiar pull guiding him toward her as he took in the sight of her. He'd long since given up resisting it, if he ever had in the first place. She was so cute, sleepy-eyed and scantily-clad in her little sweatshorts and purple tank top. "Did I wake you?"

"No." She gave him another of her sexy shrugs. "Couldn't sleep. Nightmare. I think."

Michonne watched him appreciatively, her eyes heavily hooded by her lashes in the dim overhead lights. She was inspired by the way he said 'our case'. He was determined to make her fall in love with him, it seemed. She wasn't fighting him.

Not soon enough, his arms were around her, holding her close, his hands settling into the grooves and curves of his favorite places on her. He kissed her softly, drawn to her velveteen lips. Michonne let him take up all the space left between them, craving his masculine energy; feasting on it.

"You wanna tell me about it?" He whispered gruffly, swaying with her, leaning over to nuzzle her earlobe with his lips. "It's okay baby, I'm here." He continued his sweet nothings, waiting.

Michonne was silent for a moment. She didn't know if she wanted Rick to know her darkest thoughts. Asking him to help her rid this world of a monster and confessing how good it felt for her to fantasize about ridding him of his head were two ends of a long, gruesome spectrum.

But he'd been so honest and noble with her this whole time. And she adored him already. So she tried. For him. Michonne swallowed down the unpleasant taste of the memory, murmuring against his warm shoulder: "Port Antonio. That's what Jamaica means. Six years ago. It was...a bad time." Was all she could muster.

He tightened his grip, exhaling somberly, his body radiating again with righteous anger. She found the courage to continue.

"I almost killed him, Rick. Back then. Right there. I wanted to, so badly. _And I missed my baby._ " She found her nails digging into the back of his arm, but she couldn't stop herself as the emotions from the past found a home in her soul. Her stomach hurt, but the anger burned the pain away. She scoffed, despite the ache. "But of course, Carol had a better plan. Always two steps ahead."

"I know." He said. "Carol's had your back for a long time, even then. She did what she had to."

She pulled away from him slightly, glaring up at him. "She should've let me do it."

He sighed. "But you couldn't. Carol knew that. Things happened the way they did for a reason. We're together now. And we're gonna take care of it." He stroked her cheek tenderly, his eyes gleaming. "You believe me?" He employed one of their secretive F.B.I. agent friend's tactics.

After a moment's hesitation, her expression softened, and she nodded. He kissed her on the forehead, giving her another supportive squeeze.

"Good. Now commere."

Michonne frowned at him but came willingly (of course) as he took her by the hand and dragged her gently toward the couch. He ignored the police evidence plastered to the walls all around them as he tugged her down onto the plush blue cushions with him, exhaling like a bear about to settle in for a long, comfy hibernation.

When she was flush against his front, fitting down into the sculpted angles and muscular bends of his strong, lean body, he let his hands roam. Michonne closed her eyes and elated in the feel of his hands drifting as they pleased all over whatever parts of her were exposed to his touch. He stole caresses underneath her tank and shorts, too.

After a moment of relaxing her with his touch, Rick kissed her shoulder lightly. She sighed wantonly as his hot lips traced a carefully mapped trail across her skin, along her shoulder blade, down her spine until they could go no further, impeded by the fabric of her top.

"Tell me where he hurt you." She heard his intense growl from the valley between her shoulder blades. His breath ghosted across her silky skin.

Michonne's heart started pounding and her sex clenched around the intruder invading it. He was going to drive her crazy, but his words touched her deeply. Fighting off tears, she bit her lip and answered him.

"He...used to grab my arm, _hard_...to shut me up if I got too mouthy in public. Especially when he was doing business. Show me who was boss." She confessed, humiliated.

Her chest caved in with the weight of it. She'd been so weak back then. Everyone said she was strong but she couldn't help feeling guilty for putting up with Negan's bullshit for so long.

She felt Rick's fuzzy chin and exquisite lips on her arm, now. He nuzzled and caressed her with his face, kissing her lovingly, sighing softly with regret for her pain. Burning deep down inside with anger. Determined to soothe her somehow, some way. A 'do-it-yourself' hit job wasn't gonna cut it, as necessary as it was increasingly becoming to Rick.

"Where else?"

Michonne crushed her eyes shut tighter, her lashes flooding her cheeks with their reserve of fresh, hot tears.

"Kicked me. In my stomach. On my thighs…"

Rick's jaw clenched, his chest stiffening, his grip on her tightening. But he moved his kisses steadily downward. Michonne tried not to tremble with emotion as he maneuvered himself so that he was practically on top of her, but not burdening her with his full weight. She held on to his bare shoulders as he lifted her tank top and led with his nose, kissing her so sweetly she wanted to sob.

He planted a garden of kisses all over her trembling stomach, his manhood stretching to its full, solid length as he moved lower and lower.

She lay back, helpless, her hands drifting to massage his thick, silky curls.

She didn't know what he planned to do about their little obstacle, but she also didn't care. She knew it would probably break her aching body, but she'd gladly take another round in the shower again with the way he was making her feel. The way he'd _been_ making her feel, all night. Hell, for three days straight.

Steadily, he made his way to her crotch, grazing her with hot, damp little touches of his lips just above the drawstring waist of her shorts. His breath made her tingle and quake. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

He moved on, silent and focused, kneading her stomach and the side of her ass underneath the ragged bottom of her shorts with his thumbs. He kissed her thighs, exalting in the smooth, flawless feel of them against his face.

He kissed a trail around from the side of her bouncy ass cheek, across her left thigh, dangerously close to her sex. He bypassed it, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, but he kept going as though she hadn't stirred. His kisses progressed across her right thigh, with a little nip from his teeth and a lick to sooth the sting.

He inhaled her spicy sweet, shea butter scent, licking the inside of her thigh indulgently, determined to replace whatever hurt Negan had caused. He folded his strong body halfway over hers, hard as a led pipe against her other thigh, holding her in place with his heavy hands.

Michonne hissed tightly when Rick suddenly stopped tonguing her thigh lovingly, wrapping a muscular arm around her waist and pulling her close. He planted his face right into her trembling center.

Mirroring the first night they made love, Rick inhaled, soaking up her natural scent through the fabric of her shorts, uncaring of her precarious situation.

"Keep talkin' to me, baby…" he breathed, grinding his hardness into her slowly, wound up tight with longing. "I need you to tell me where else to kiss. _Mmm…_ " her intense lover groaned, burying his face further into her crotch, confusing her body yet again. "Or I'm gonna hafta go get a towel…"

"I don't wanna talk about Negan anymore." Michonne returned, raking her nails along his scalp, sending a shiver through him. She was on the verge of calling his bluff. But she swallowed hard, trying to come down from the high of his tender administrations. She was in no condition to let him invade her, as much as she yearned for him to. "Let's talk about your case, Rick. Please?"

She squirmed beneath him, feeling herself producing more than just what her body was trying to rid her of. This was insane. She pulled at him, forcing him to abandon his indulgence and rise to meet her lips with his. He kissed her fiercely, sucking at her mouth, still grinding himself into her, before shaking his head forbiddingly. Damn him.

"There's plenty to talk about, but you need more sleep. It's late and you're exhausted."

"But I'm still awake…"

Rick grinned, moving back to lay against the pillows and pulling her into him again. He spooned her, shifting his middle around so that his hard dick was poking her in the ass instead of her back.

"Tell you what. You close those gorgeous eyes of yours and go to sleep now, we'll get to work bright and early. Promise."

"Not good enough." Michonne held out, making herself comfortable in his arms. "You got me into this mess I'm in right now...you get me out of it."

"You always this stubborn, Ms. 'Chonne?" He amended his earlier pet name for her. She liked this version better. It sounded like sweet, melting caramel dripping from his pretty, country boy lips.

"'fraid so, officer…" she teased, rubbing her ass against his enticingly thick shaft. The friction his jeans and her shorts offered further sent her body into overdrive. It was hopeless.

Her pain medicine had kicked in, with the aid of Rick's unfailing devotion. She was over her tears.

"Well what do you suppose we do about it?" He asked darkly, ten seconds away from making good on his threat to fetch a towel. He bucked into her cushy backside again, biting at her ear.

Michonne turned around to face him in his arms, draping a shapely, freshly-kissed leg around his waist.

She took kisses from his deadly lips, causing his Adam's apple to bob and his abdomen to clench with lust. His sexy prize licked at his chin, her favorite spot to tease, and finally got her hand around his cock.

"Permission to suck you off, officer?" She breathed as he rutted weakly into her squeezing palm.

Rick nodded sluggishly, burning up, hard as all hell. "Permission granted, rookie."

His eyes had bloomed wide, his thick lashes fanning them as he watched her crawl down the length of his body. She got him on his back, his hand caressing her cheek, tracking her every move with his electric blue gaze the entire time. Michonne straddled one of his legs, pushing her ass up high, bringing her sexy mouth down to his tented jeans.

Rick's fingers laced into her hair and he held on for dear life as he watched her unzip him, her plump lips shining for him like a juicy candy apple coated in chocolate dip. Michonne kissed and dragged her hot, silky tongue across his skin along his pelvis, causing him to jerk and grind, groaning deep in his throat above her head.

The dark, cold scenes of nightmarish crimes stood watch over Rick and Michonne as she pulled his dripping cock from the prison of his jeans and licked the length of him from the bottom of his quivering balls to the tip of his swollen, pearly head.

Rick grunted, glaring at her perfectly-shaped ass perched in the air, her tanktop falling down to her shoulders, exposing more of her dark skin. He got so hard his cock ached and started turning purple. She had him between her lips before he could take another breath.

Then she started in on him, and he could do nothing but lay back and take it.

Michonne added the explosively tantalizing feel of her smooth hand, wetting him with her saliva and his precum, taking him all the way in. She stroked and sucked on him hard and fast, her juicy ass bouncing beneath her flimsy shorts with each pull. Rick fell down into blissful sensation; tidal waves of it crashing underneath him as the couch turned to warm liquid.

Michonne milked him like she was sucking frothy, sweet _piña_ _colada_ out of a thick, meaty straw.

He closed his eyes, letting her go to town, groaning and grunting, thrusting and grabbing her neck to stave off a flood of curse words. He was losing the battle, pitifully.

 _Damn_ , she was so fucking good at this. Too good. Devastatingly good.

When she swirled her slippery, cunning tongue around his head and licked every ridge of his phallus on the way back down her throat, he opened his eyes and rose up into the armrest. Jesus, he felt like he should run away from it, it made his toes curl as he slid back down again.

Rick watched as his shining, wet cock slid long and slow out of her _absolutely fucking_ _ **sinful**_ mouth. He was soaked with his secretions and hers, throbbing for release. Her dark lips and hot pink tongue looked positively pornographic as she licked him just as lovingly as he had a moment ago. The she attacked him again, practically disappearing him, swallowing him whole and continuing to mine for liquid gold with her hand, twisting and turning around him.

"Jesus Christ, baby, you're amazing…!" He hissed nonsensically, his head falling back onto the pillow shoved against the armrest with his heaving weight. "Fuck... _urrgghhh_ _ **fuck**_ , 'Chonne I'm gonna cum in your mouth! _Ohhhh_ , baby, I'm gonna fuckin explode!"

Michonne let him pop out from between her lips but kept pumping him, causing him sheer agony as he came closer and closer to discharging all over her. The sheer thought of the visual nearly did him in. And she _knew_ it. She bumped his bubbling head against her mouth, breathing on him, watching him with a wicked gleam in her dark eyes.

"When you kill him…" He heard her smooth voice drifting toward him through a haze of ecstasy. Michonne slowed down, gripping him tightly at the top, carassing him skillfully as she stroked down. "I wanna watch."

He opened his eyes again and glared down at her. She simply licked him, causing him to jerk his hips against her, torturing him.

"Promise me, Rick." His baby had him on the edge, and she wouldn't let him fall until he obeyed her. She hadn't been kidding. She got what she wanted. "Let me do it with you."

He grabbed her head and forced himself back into her mouth, nodding vigorously, pumping for release now. She moaned around him as he growled: "Any-fuckin'-thing, Michonne! _Mmmm_... _ **goddamn**_ , baby, anything you want."

She sucked the words right out of him as his seed gushed forth, hot and powerful, into her waiting and willing mouth. Then she eagerly swallowed every drop, rendering him as useless as a jello mold.

It was a promise.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Michonne had finally fallen back to sleep, unable to fight off her exhaustion any longer.

She lay curled up in Rick's arms, her fingers unconsciously dancing across his chest. A peaceful glow had settled across her beautiful face.

He watched her, wide awake.

He liked watching her. He probably always would.

She was too good to be true. If this was a waking dream, he never wanted it to end.

His phone buzzed against the hard, smooth surface of the coffee table, causing Michonne to wiggle around in the grooves of his body, frowning in her sleep. He waited, watching the phone buzz a second and third time, until he was sure she wouldn't wake.

Then he carefully dislodged himself from her, reaching over to pick up the phone.

This front display showed him Shane's grinning face, partially hidden under a black 'POLICE' cap.

Rick answered it immediately, getting up from the couch now. Michonne rolled over into his warm, dented spot, still dead to the world as Rick padded barefoot into the foyer. He pushed down his annoyance and just thanked his lucky stars his friend had actually called him back. "Hey."

Shane's tired voice sounded over the line: "Hey, asshole. So, super guns, huh?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Phew! Okay - NOW FINALLY WE CAN GET TO NEGAN.**

 **Haha, I hope you guys enjoyed that. I certainly enjoyed getting back into this Richonne. I just love it. This may be dark, and a bit twisted, but I'm OBSESSED, and loving every minute of it.**

 **Exploring my dark side (and Richonne's) is fun. I hope it's fun for you guys, too!**

 **There is sooooo much more ahead. Including that night at Port Antonio, Morgan, Andre and Sabine, the Beast and the Master, the Code - and I know I know I promise - Negan!**

 **As always, you'll find the song I used to inspire my writing in this chapter, along with juicy visuals, on the tumblr (#kendrawriter or #vantagepoint or #thatsongissorichonne). Stay tuned, I'm in the Vantage Point zone now.**

 **THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS! They keep me going man, seriously. You guys have given me some jaw-dropping, utterly overwhelming compliments and I cannot thank you enough for taking this journey with me.**

 **And if I haven't messaged you or gotten to reviewing your work yet, never fear! I have a long list saved/favorited/followed. A juicy one. I have a nice long vacation coming up and I plan to lose myself in Richonne goodness!**

 **-Kendra**


	18. the dame and the plan

**A/N: I've been sitting on this for a hot minute - I wanted to post it as a two-chapter update - but I couldn't leave you guys hanging for so long while I get my shit together to move across the country. It might be a few weeks before I can update again, but I wanted to let you know my fics are _NOT_ abandoned and they are all very much planned out! Vantage Point, it should be noted, takes place in a heightened reality. Think _"A Dame To Kill For"_ meets _"Kiss The Girls"_. It's intentionally dramatic and very dark, and you may not recognize this Michonne but I personally quite enjoy thinking of the "high rise" version of her sitting pretty on the other end of the "fierce" spectrum. The "Lady Vengeance" persona instead of the "Warrior Queen" persona. **

**Please enjoy this bit of backstory on Carol Peletier and Michonne...or, as she was known back then...Eva Wolfe.**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of..._

' _Countdown', Symmetry_

* * *

 _ **Swooooossshhhh…..ssiiiiiggghhh….**_

 _ **Swooooossshhhh….ssiiiiigggghhh….**_

 _She thinks the sound of waves hitting the rocks below her balcony will drive her insane._

 _That is, of course, if Negan fails to get the job done first._

 _They seem never to cease, the waves._

 _ **Swooooossshhhh…ssiiiiigggghhh…**_

 _ **Swooooossshhhh…ssiiiiigggghhh…**_

 _No matter what time of night or day, they keep on, wave after wave, crashing against the slick, slimy stones holding her up above the abyss. She hates everywhere Negan takes her, but no place with more loathing than this castle on the peninsula in Port Antonio._

 _He returns here time and again lately. There's something here he wants, badly._

 _It's a beautiful place that represents nothing but ugliness to her._

 _It's two o'clock in the morning. She still feels as though she's soaking wet but it's mostly that she can't seem to get her trembling under control. She faces her reflection in the mirrored doors of her bedroom closet. Staring at herself, she wishes they had let her drown._

 _Outside her balcony doors, despite them being closed, the sound of the crashing waves seems to grow louder and louder. Mocking her. Drowning out her thoughts. Telling her she's trapped._

 _ **Swooooossshhhh…ssiiiiigggghhh…**_

 _ **Swooooossshhhh…ssiiiiigggghhh…**_

 _Wouldn't she like to dive right off that balcony?_

 _Wouldn't she rather be crushed by the relentless waves than spend one more second in this prison with_ _ **that man?**_

 _They stopped her once. They're patrolling the grounds now. They won't let her get away with jumping, again. But if she dies on the way down…? Against the rocks first. Or perhaps the waves will send her crashing into a huge chunk of merciless reef. Could she be so lucky?_

 _She sniffs loudly, wiping at her lips and chin, tearing her watery eyes from her pitiful reflection._

 _She had been on her way to visit her son. A child she hasn't seen in over a year because he's being raised, in secret, by her sister. A child whose absence is a steadily splintering chasm inside her._

 _Negan had gone off to take care of some business. He's been leaving her behind more and more lately._

 _He doesn't trust her anymore. Of course he doesn't._

 _Her impatience and misery are giving her lies away._

 _The first opportunity she got, she took off. Against Carol's wishes. She had to see her son._

 _She knew Negan would be immediately notified, but she hadn't been planning to be in New York for longer than it took to walk from one gate to the next._

 _She had almost made it._

 _Her driver, that piece of shit big mouth. She bribed him good, and he kept his mouth shut for her for years. But somehow, Negan got to him. Of course. Negan gets to everyone._

 _Thankfully, the driver doesn't know about the deal with the FBI, or her connecting flight at LaGuardia. She isn't_ _ **that**_ _stupid. And after beating her for trying to escape and nearly drowning, Negan doesn't know either. She kept her mouth shut, despite the torture of the last few hours. But keeping her mouth shut is getting old. She wants away. She's crawling out of her skin. She's losing her mind._

 _Sick to her stomach, she stumbles on bare feet into her large private bathroom, nearly slipping on the cold marble flooring. Her body aches from head to toe with pain, but she ignores it in favor of a singular mission to numb it all. She makes her way to her large sink perched beneath a huge vanity mirror, ringed with lights. She needs to get this vile emotion under control._

 _Negan's people, tipped off by her traitor driver, intercepted her before she made it to her connecting flight._

 _Then she was under lock and key, constantly watched (even to go to the bathroom) by his greasy fuckboy bodyguards until they returned to Port Antonio._

 _With every hour and every mile they drew closer, her despair grew._

 _Until the final approach of the castle, as she was staring at the waves of pristine blue, crashing against the speeding yacht. And she just...jumped. Hoping to drown beneath the beautiful Caribbean sea. But they couldn't even let her have that, of course. They fished her out, revived her._

 _He slapped her silly after greeting her with open arms and a smile._

 _She'd been in a living hell ever since. When he was done with her, he tossed her in here to lick her wounds while he was out. She had been pacing and crying and numbing her pain for three hours._

 _She heard him coming home ten minutes ago, probably high as shit. She waited for him to return to her, finish what he'd begun before he went to take care of his business. But he simply bypassed her part of the castle and all went quiet. All except those goddamned waves._

 _Now she's here, tearing her lavish bathroom apart._

 _She has no idea what she's looking for until she finds it._

 _In a hidden compartment in one of her makeup kits. She doesn't need or wear much makeup. But it comes in handy. With shaking hands, blinded by her tears, the traumatized beauty takes the pills her driver sold her for special occasions. The kinda shit yuppie assholes take to get blissed; feel nothing. She takes three._

 _Outside, the waves persist as she slips down the wall near her sink to her butt on the cold floor._

 _She cries, laughing at herself, staring around the large bathroom. The gorgeous vintage decor._

 _How will she ever escape this hell? How will she ever be able to see her son again?_

 _She knows...she won't. What little hope she still clung to before tonight is gone._

 _The agony of despair almost takes her out to disappear into the sea again - and suddenly she's standing on the balcony, hearing its call._

 _She feels herself relaxing, becoming transfixed by the gorgeous nightscape. As far as her eyes can see, there is deep blue sea. Behind her, the lush landscape of the resort opens up to one of the most picturesque seaside locations in the region._

 _All of it is an ugly illusion. A prison. She wants to jump._

 _The thought of Andre stops her. She's beginning to realize now that she can't depend on the FBI. She has to find a way to make sure Negan can never know about their son. It is the last gift she can bestow. The last sacrifice she can make. Negan's head._

 _She stumbles back into her bedroom, searching now for another of her hiding spots._

 _She finds it again, in her shoe box in the air vent in her walk-in closet. Her burner phone from Carol. Still exactly where she left it months ago._

 _The phone only rings once. "Mrs. Wolfe."_

 _The female FBI agent's voice is always calm; serious. It's a voice you trust. Or fear._

" _I almost drowned tonight, Agent Peletier. I figured...he shouldn't have the satisfaction." She says with a slow, cold smile gracing her sore lips. "Did you know that?"_

 _She wonders if the stoic special agent is around. If she's close. If she sat back and let it all happen. If she really_ _ **does**_ _care more than she should, or if that's all an act to get what she needs for a case that could make her entire career._

" _Christ..." Carol loses her calm. But only for a moment. "No. I'm sorry. We had a tail on you but you know we can't get closer to that castle. It's too heavily secured."_

 _Mrs. Wolfe scoffs at the woman, turning to walk stiffly, haltingly back into her large, lonely bedroom._

 _Blush-colored silk sheets adorn her canopy bed. It's almost identical to Negan's master suite for the weekend, except his is white and black. He likes dark walls and white sheets. He's a maniac._

 _She refuses to look at this opulence anymore, her watery eyes drifting again to the view from her balcony. She stares at the sea._

" _He's not done with me yet." She is suddenly boiling with rage. She slips out of her ruined dress and slips on a blush pink silk and lace robe, now high and furious. Bloodthirsty. She always tries not to show Negan any signs of fear or weakness. It always enrages him further. It's the only sick pleasure she can find in her hell of an existence. Yes, she is losing it. "He's gonna kill me, Carol."_

" _I won't let that happen." Carol says immediately, her voice firm with cutting confidence._

 _Mrs. Wolfe is not impressed._

" _Bullshit!" She hisses, tears streaming down her elegant, soft cheeks again. The woman on the other line seems to draw in a sharp breath. Good. "You keep telling me to wait. The right opportunity. The right moment. The right window. It's all bullshit, isn't it?"_

" _This deal in Port Antonio is important, Mrs. Wolfe. To your husband and to us. We finally have a man on the inside. We only need a couple of days. You were supposed to_ _ **stay**_ _in Paris."_

 _There is another long pause as she listens to the empty promises of the federal government, who'd been telling her the same thing for months, trying to use her to get close to Negan. Trying to find a weakness, an 'in', some way to outsmart him. He seems hellbent on killing her first, however._

 _She has reached the very end of her tether._

" _Well, I'm happy for you, Agent Peletier. But I don't think I have a couple of days. Neither does he."_

" _What does that mean, Eva?"_

 _She turns around slowly from the beautiful view and walks up to her bed. She slides gracefully to her knees, ignoring the pain in her body and the concerned voice of her distant 'handler'. There is a moment of sharp, tense silence as Mrs. Eva Wolfe puts down the phone next to her and reaches underneath the bed. She slowly pulls out the gift Negan bestowed on her, that she always keeps in this exact spot wherever she goes with him._

 _He is so arrogant, he has no inkling of a thought that she might use it on him. Same as with the tiny pistol he'd given her years before. Negan knows his Eva. Or so he believes._

 _She pulls the box toward her, opens it, reaches inside, and removes the katana. Its deadly blade gleams in the moonlight, the glint spilling across her face, catching her dark, cold eyes._

 _She stands up, now, the sword unsheathed, hanging at her side. She picks up the phone again._

" _ **Eva**_ … _?" Carol tries again, sounding alarmed for the first time since they've known each other._

" _That isn't my fucking name." Mrs. Wolfe replies in a low snarl. "I'm done with this, do you hear me? Whether you help me or not, Negan dies tonight."_

" _Think about what you're doing...Michonne. As in,_ _ **don't.**_ _You'll never make it past the -"_

" _Maybe I won't. Maybe they'll kill me before I can kill him. What do you care?" She closes her eyes at finally hearing her real name in this awful, ugly world. The last time she heard it, it had been Sabine who uttered it. And that had been out of anger._

 _Carol says something she isn't expecting to hear. "Wait for me," comes the steely whisper. She has never heard the older woman's voice sound this way before either. "Please, Michonne."_

 _Her real name again. "Where are you?"_

" _It doesn't matter. Just give me some time. Thirty minutes._ _ **Please.**_ "

" _That's too long. If they kill me before I get to him, promise you'll finish it for me, Carol."_

" _I'm coming._ _ **Now**_ _."_

 _Dead air screams at her, the call suddenly disconnected. She drops the phone to the floor and begins to pace. To plan. There's a guard outside her door. There are more roaming around the castle. There are cameras everywhere. Negan sleeps protected by a separate alarm rigged only for his bedroom._

 _She'll probably be taken out before she reaches him. But say she does manage to reach him…_

* * *

 _Agent Carol Peletier hangs up the phone and turns on her heel, striding urgently back up to the rickety outhouse of a camp her team occupies on the mainland._

 _They're halfway around the damn mountainside, but they have a speedboat and she knows a shortcut. She barges in and heads straight for the stacks of pelican cases full of weapons, ammo, and other stealth ops gear. Without a word, she prepares to breach Negan's compound._

" _What is it?" Her partner Porter, having been on this operation with her since the beginning, looks appropriately prepared for anything. "Has the target been compromised?"_

" _By the informant." Carol confirms, not pausing what she's doing. "How much cover can you give me?"_

 _He only hesitates for a moment. He knows there's no stopping her. He also knows that she wouldn't be going if it wasn't something crucially important. Something that could blow this whole case if she doesn't put a stop to it. Also, she looks like one of her children is in danger; someone dear to her is on the verge of falling off a cliff. No, he won't be able to talk her out of it. She's already arming herself, stripping herself of cumbersome clothing and camouflaging herself to go in._

 _She does not intend to be seen. She does not intend to be stopped. This is serious._

 _He watches her retrieve a tranq gun and hide it away before strapping on a serrated knife above her boot. He gives her the answer she's looking for._

" _I can get you past the guards on the seaside. After that, you're on your own."_

 _Carol swallows and nods._

 _She doesn't have time to think about other options. She's going to have to take Negan's men down to get in there, and that means they'll need a damned good cover. They're going to have to force Ezekiel's hand on this deal they'd set up. Potentially put him in danger of retaliation. And there is always the chance Negan will immediately become suspicious and all would be lost. But Carol is willing to risk all of that to save Eva...Michonne...from herself._

 _All this passes silently between her and her partner as she checks the scope of her sniper rifle. Once done, she stands smoothly, now wearing a vest and a camouflage poncho._

" _Let's go. We have thirty minutes."_

 _On the way, her heart wants to pound out of her chest, her mind wants to spin out of control, but she refuses to let any of that to deter her. The woman everyone knows as Eva Wolfe is about to crack, ending years of careful planning with a dead body - either her own, or Negan's. Carol cannot allow that to happen. She cannot lose this case._

 _But losing the case isn't the only thing driving her as she stalks through the forest at the bottom of the mountain toward the docks, where Negan's men are crawling around like rodents._

 _She cannot lose Michonne._

 _Carol had been skeptical of Eva Wolfe at best, derisive at worst when she first started working this case._

 _The woman is stunning;_ _ **gorgeous**_ _. As if that isn't bad enough. She is also very pampered, very cunning, and can sometimes be so distant as to be cold. How a woman could give herself over to such an evil fuck as Negan Wolfe is beyond Carol._ _ **Was**_ _beyond Carol. That is, until she did some digging. Studied the sad, beautiful woman closer. Figured out that 'Eva Wolfe' is a mask. Got closer to the real woman underneath the elegantly sculpted marble concealing her from the world. Michonne._

 _Michonne is not cold. She is a tender, precious soul, spinning out of control in the middle of a tornado of repugnant shit. Battered. Crumbling. Mourning the son who needs her._

 _Now there is no losing her. Carol will start a war, kill a few men, but she will not lose Michonne._

 _Fuck this martyr bullshit. Carol is determined to make Michonne see that there are better ways to have vengeance than blood for blood._

 _More lucrative ways._

" _We're gonna have to pull the trigger on this deal with Ezekiel early. We gotta put Eugene in play. I don't care if he's ready or not." She informs him as they wait in the shadows for the coast to be clear._

 _She intends to take one of the small speeders away from this side of the mountain to the edge of the peninsula, just under the castle. His job will be to cover her until they can take out men patrolling the seaside of the castle, then she will indeed be on her own._

 _Porter turns to cast a serious, dutiful look her way. That is what she likes about him, having been stuck with him for nine months. He does his fucking job, no questions asked. Even though they both know she's about to start some shit that could lead to a war, or potentially blow Ezekiel's cover, she has no time to change her mind._

" _You think a fake turf war will be enough to cover this up?"_

 _She doesn't return his look but she feels it, and she knows he's right. It's a long shot. Negan is already suspicious. But nothing distracts him like business. As for getting their hands dirty, in the course of their duty, things get messy. 'Paperwork gets lost'. Both their target and their informant are in jeopardy. Carol has already gone out on several limbs chasing Negan Wolfe. She can go several more._

 _He's a bit of an obsession with her, some of the guys back home said before he was assigned to this case. Now Porter can really see it. And it isn't just Negan. It's_ _ **her**_ _, too. Mrs. Wolfe._

 _He decides to trust that Carol knows what she's doing, but only because there really is no stopping her._

 _Every second she sits here debating, she's wasting time. She has to do this, and it has to be flawlessly executed. "We don't have a choice. Ezekiel isn't gonna like it, but we'll make it up to him. We've got the bait. It's time to catch the fucking shark. Set it up. I'm going in."_

" _Copy that. Be careful."_

 _With that, she is off to stop a woman at the end of her rope from tying a noose in it._

 _Porter watches her go before heading off to take out as many of Negan's men as he can and clear a path for her. She is his partner, and it's his job to cover her, carry on until they reach their end goal. He knows that means sometimes doing things above and beyond the law. Like starting a turf war in the middle of an arms deal they'd set up. He learned a long time ago, some bad guys are bad enough that one has to be willing to taint their soul in order to catch them._

 _Negan Wolfe is one of those guys._

 _Porter also knows, from years of experience, that there are other reasons to taint your soul in this business. Living, breathing, irresistible reasons. Agent Peletier isn't fooling him. She's obviously found those reasons in Mrs. 'Eva Wolfe'._

 _So long as they get their man, Porter will do what needs to be done._

 _It's a good night for a killing spree._

 _And with the power 'Eva Wolfe' holds...she is certainly a dame to kill for._

* * *

 _Once they make it around to the seaside of the castle in the boat, Porter takes out the guards at the base of the peninsula first._

 _Carol climbs._

 _Porter has their men back at base down the network, disconnecting the cameras and silent alarms temporarily so she can break into the control room on the castle docks._

 _Once inside, she takes them all out in a hail of silenced gunfire. Then she takes out the equipment._

 _Porter's work is done, so he falls back. She is on her own, now._

 _She does the first round of guards patrolling the seaside with her knife._

 _Quick. Quiet. Her single focus is getting to Mrs. Wolfe; keeping her and Negan both alive._

 _She's silently listening in on their radio chatter, and she can see them with the infrared scope, so she knows when they're moving, and where. She'd managed to neutralize this side of the castle quick enough._

 _The rest don't know that she's here. Yet._

 _She makes it to the side of the castle that is most shaded from the moonlight and climbs, having to scale the rocks. She believes where she needs to go is behind the walls blocking her path, once she's on flat land again. There are cameras here, too, with a separate control room somewhere in this vicinity. There are more guards patrolling the area. She can't take them all out on their level and make it to Michonne by herself._

 _She'll have to climb the castle itself. One of the towers jutting out from the chapel structure, maybe. There's a ladder affixed to its rounded side that leads up to a metal walkaround; she can use that as a sniper base._

 _She climbs, pausing every now and then to avoid being seen until she reaches the tower walkaround. She assembles her rifle, crouched on her stomach in the dark, before raising it and peering through the scope._

" _Five minutes, agent. Over." Porter whispers in her ear piece._

" _Copy."_

 _She begins to take out any of Negan's men close enough that she sees through the scope, one by one._

 _She lands hits to the carotid, head, or heart, so they either bleed out quickly or die on contact without too much excruciating pain. Once she has a clear enough path, she gathers her rifle and moves on._

 _She finds the control room. Hidden at the top of the tower. She tosses a gas grenade inside before going in this time. Then one by one, she ends all of them with kill shots._

 _Carol searches the monitors showing her the entire castle from the inside. Finally, she spots Michonne. The arms dealer's wife is walking slowly through the castle. She's holding a long, sharp ass katana. Panic ricochets through Carol for the second time this night._

" _Fuck." She's almost too late._

 _Michonne is headed to Negan's room on the other side of the castle - the side the special agent is on._

 _Carol takes off._

* * *

 _Mrs. Wolfe is so numb from being high that she doesn't realize what's going on around her, or why her guard had run off to investigate the strange radio chatter._

 _She found him dead in the courtyard below her floor, having been shot and fallen off a landing._

 _She is in shock. But otherwise...determined. The man's name was Romeo. It's a stupid name, and he was a stupid man...with a girlfriend and a mother he sent money to back home._

 _She forces herself not to think about Romeo. She's headed for Negan, now._

 _For some reason, she hasn't been met with much resistance along the way. She doesn't care._

 _She moves on, her long sword glinting in the moonlight with each and every step she takes. Her robe barely clings to her narrow, elegant shoulders. Her breasts rise and fall beneath the flimsy, cool, soft fabric. She's delirious with determination. With murderous intent. She is hellbent on killing and dying tonight. This is it. She laughs so quietly the sound of it echoes like a ghostly whisper in the vast, century-old halls._

 _She finally reaches Negan's room. His guard is not paying any attention, his ear piece is out. He's watching something on his cell phone. Porn._

 _Michonne smashes the back of his skull with her sword handle as hard as she can. He falls in a heaving, bleeding and gurgling heap to the floor. Dazed with cold detachment, Mrs. Wolfe moves on. Careful to avoid stepping in his blood, carrying her sword at the ready as she disarms the alarm and walks into Negan's bedroom._

 _She hears the waves crashing against the rocks on his side of the castle from the open doors of his balcony. Always there. Negan is asleep. Passed out from too much coke and vodka. If she still possessed one ounce of patience, she might consider allowing his habits to kill him._

 _Eva...Michonne...Mrs. Wolfe...stands at the foot of her husband's bed._

 _He lies on his stomach, hugging his pillow, naked and as arrogant as ever._

 _His neck is perfectly exposed to her blade._

 _All it will take is one swift, hard blow._

 _She stares longingly at his exposed neck, taking silent steps around the bed, raising the katana with one hand, letting it glide silently above the length of his body. The shadow of the blade scaling the pristine white sheets. She turns to stand directly over him, her hands cupping the handle of her katana, poised to lift it up and bring it down._

 _And finally, she notices the tiny tranquilizer dart still imbedded into his skin. Negan is not merely sleeping. He's been sedated._

 _She freezes. This sight, and the realizations that come with it - that she is not alone with him; that she is caught - are accompanied by the soft click of a hammer being pulled back._

" _I told you to wait for me, Mrs. Wolfe."_

 _Carol's voice, coming from the direction of his balcony behind her. The waves crash._

 _She glares at Negan's sedated figure, slumbering away like a jackass, seconds from death without even knowing it. She should do it. She doesn't care if Carol shoots her on the spot. She should kill him._

" _He deserves to die." She can feel the end of the silencer hovering just at the base of her skull, disturbing the cascade of thick coils. "And maybe so do I."_

" _There's another way."_

 _Carol draws closer, her gun still trained on the unhinged woman._

" _ **Stop**_ _lying to me!"_

" _This isn't a lie. Look around you. How do you think I got in here? How do you think I'll get out? You were right."_

 _Carol is touching her now, her free hand sliding across her informant's, moving to grip the handle of the katana. Eva...Michonne...tries to think, panicking, not wishing to let her one chance slip away. But she's caught. And it is Carol who is right. Michonne has forced the issue. Carol has come, and that means she's done a lot of damage. They both have. There is no turning back from this._

 _Carol gets the sword from her hands and she almost sinks to the floor._

 _The older woman catches her, laying their weapons down to gather her in her arms. "What did you do? If they find you, we're dead. We_ _ **have**_ _to kill him and get out of here!"_

" _Shhh, shhh!" Carol soothes her, taking her face between her hands. "Look at me. Listen. Hey!"_

 _The disconsolate woman in her arms snaps out of her haze, meeting her eyes and taking deep breaths._

" _I have a plan. I'm on your side. Do you still trust me?"_

 _They stare into each other's eyes in the dark. Finally, Mrs. Wolfe nods, tears sitting in her glistening eyes, waiting to fall. "Yes."_

 _Carol wipes away her tears and stands, offering a hand. "Then come on."_

* * *

 _Carol uses the katana to carve a message into the wall above Negan's bed._

 _Then warily, at the ready, she escorts the lady of the house back to her bedroom on the other side of the castle._

 _They don't have much time. Minutes. Seconds. Before the other swell of Negan's men figure out that something is amiss. So, along the way, she explains the plan. She blows Ezekiel's cover. She blows Eguene's. She reassures her informant._

" _We've almost got him."_

 _Michonne is fading fast, riding her high and her trauma and her shock. Wanting to disappear rather than spend a second longer with him._

" _The Saviours have been trying to dismantle the Kingdom for decades. This will work."_

" _Why tonight?" Michonne mutters as Carol pulls the covers back on the queen sized bed. She may be high, but she wants answers for how they're going to cover up her meltdown and almost-assassination of one of the most dangerous criminals in the world. "Why would they attack tonight? Why can't we just get out of here? Please!"_

" _To halt the deal. To frame Ezekiel. Because Negan isn't stupid. Take your pick. Either way,_ _ **you**_ _have to sell our story, Mrs. Wolfe. I take you now, he sees right through it."_

 _She hates what she's telling this woman as she pushes her gently back and lays her down on the bed. Michonne is still reluctant but too weak and dazed to fight her. Carol straddles Michonne, careful to carry her own weight in her legs, and lifts her arms to bind them with a zip tie. She pauses to gaze down at her, feeling tenderness pass through her, trying to get her to see that in the long run, this would come out better for her, for Andre - for everyone._

" _We can't kill him. But we can make him pay. In order to do that, you have to hold on for a few days."_

" _Fuck you. I don't have to do shit!" Michonne catches her off guard, snatching one of her wrists away._

 _Carol grabs her, tightening her grip on the other wrist, now pushing her weight down to halt the other woman's frantic, angry movements. But she's too late._

 _Michonne has her knife, pressed to her neck. Carol gazes down at her coolly, not letting up despite the danger of having her throat slit and bleeding out all over this pretty pink silk._

" _I want my son."_

" _I know. I'm trying to get you to him in one piece. Alive."_

" _How much?"_

" _What?"_

 _The knife presses deeper into her flesh. Carol allows this, even though they're running out of time. Michonne needs reassurance, and right now her only link to the outside world is willing to give it to her._

" _How much is this Eugene guy..?"_

" _Two million to start. So no one notices. So we know it works. I'll take that risk. I've had a long, pretty decent career." Michonne doesn't laugh at her joke and Carol swallows, taking the opportunity to really study the woman's face up close. She's been watching her through surveillance footage and the lenses of very expensive, heavy duty cameras for months. This is different. Much different. "Negan stays inside for ten years? We each get ten more. I retire. You live happily ever after."_

 _The woman's chest begins to rise and sink, her lips parted, her grip on the knife loosening. The seconds tick by. Carol takes control of the situation again, reaching up to take the knife. She stabs the pillow with it around Michonne's head a few times, creating a scene, startling her. Then she grabs her hand again and pushes it up to join its twin. They stare into each other's eyes as Carol binds her tight enough that she can't escape, but not enough to cause serious damage. First her hands. Then her feet. Carol takes the knife and slashes at Michonne's robe a bit, to indicate some sort of struggle. Then she's back at eye level with the lady of the house, still on top of her._

 _This is the part the seasoned agent has been dreading. Leaving her here._

 _The melancholy, beautiful Mrs. Wolfe shudders and squirms beneath her. "I want to talk to my son. Hear his voice. Please."_

 _She might have to shoot her way out, but Agent Peletier takes her time to answer the question, shifting her weight so she's no longer merely straddling her young charge. "Okay. Give me some time to arrange it. It's just a few days. Negan makes this deal, we pull the trigger. You're free."_

 _Michonne nods, trying to let hope override her crushing despair. "Fine. Get out."_

 _Unable to stop herself, she reaches out to stroke Michonne's cheek. Then her chin. Then her lips._

" _Get out before they find you." A sea of dark brown latch onto deep pools of silvery blue._

" _I'm gonna save you, Mrs. Wolfe. Michonne." Carol whispers, allowing herself one single moment to let her guard down. Michonne stares at her, softening beneath her, hope finally wrestling her to submission. "And in the meantime? I promise you: Negan lays a hand on you again, I'll kill him myself."_

 _She realizes that she's no longer just touching the woman, she is holding her. Her supple skin is warm beneath her thin robe. There is a pulse, radiating through her. Her eyes are so full of burning anger, and sadness, and that enticing distance that makes you want to leap skyscrapers to cross it. Followed by those gorgeous lips. Carol has never seen lips so perfect. They confuse and bewitch her._

 _Carol begins to really understand, now, why this woman is who she is. Why Negan is such a maniac who acts as though he hates her but cannot let her go. Why she has just risked her career and the career of her partner, killed people, vowed to kill again. Eva...Michonne...Mrs. Wolfe is irresistible. To everyone._

 _Suddenly, she is kissing Mrs. Wolfe._

 _And Mrs. Wolfe is kissing back, squirming around beneath her, her body heat seeming to rise to a fever pitch. She's such a tender, slinky thing. So opposite of everything the hardened spy ever thought she could possibly want for. That pulse radiating through her sensual form sweeps Carol under its current and carries her away. Her grip becomes possessive._

 _Until she hears in her earpiece: "You'll have company in fifty-two seconds. Over."_

 _Porter. Right. She's in hostile territory. Kissing the wife of one of the most dangerous criminals in the world._

 _Michonne suddenly pulls back, cold and unresponsive. She stares at Carol. She hasn't heard Porter at all, but she is now depriving Carol of any sign that she's affected at all by their kiss. "Got what you came for. Now please get out. Or I'll scream, and they'll kill you."_

 _So cunning and vindictive. Carol now feels the disappointment and knows the kiss was only a means to this exact end. She raises her guard again, leans back and touches her earpiece to answer both of them._

" _Copy."_

 _She slips off the bed and to the balcony, from where she'll make her escape. She has to retrieve her rifle from the guard tower, but that side is clear still, or so she hopes._

" _Scream anyway, once I've gone. They'll come untie you. I'll be in touch."_

 _Mrs. Wolfe doesn't respond, only watches the other woman's reflection in the mirrored closet doors as she disappears from sight._

 _It's just her and the waves again._

 _After a few moments of that agonizing sound, she screams._


	19. the fun part

_Written to the musical score of..._

' _No Friend of Mine', Unloved_

* * *

 _ **Interesting choice, asshole**_

 _ **You're late**_

Rick sat alone in a corner booth by the back window of the Sunday Diner, waiting for Shane.

He hadn't known what to make of Shane's request to meet here, but here he was. Neutral territory, maybe. Or maybe there was another point to it. Rick would wait and see. He got a reply text.

 _ **Driving, keep your panties on**_

He decided to let his patience win out over his unease at being back in this booth again. Rick closed his messages and finished his first cup of coffee while scrolling through a series of photos to kill time. At first re-examining the ones he'd taken of Amy Jones' car, until he reached the ones he took of a sleeping Michonne while the sky was still dark this morning.

Something to keep with him while he worked. Motivation to finish the job and get back to her.

How many times had he imagined her this way since he started watching her? He'd lost count.

He paused to memorize the details of the last one, his thumb hovering as it traced her lips, chin, cheekbones. He was anxious to touch her again, though he'd only left her side a short while ago. He stared at her lips, remembering them wrapped around his cock last night, extracting his undying loyalty with hypnotizing eroticism. Remembering them pressed against his, asking him to kill for her.

If he hadn't gotten so close to her so quickly, he might be convinced she was a walking, talking fantasy. But she was very real, as was her influence over him. Over everyone she came in contact with, if one listened to Agent Peletier tell it.

With her, he felt like someone who was capable of anything. He had to be, if he was going to keep his promise to her. He was intensely driven to keep his promise. It was her _pull_ on him, since the moment he saw her. Her ability, with her mere existence, to seduce every part of him.

Rick forced himself to stop staring at Michonne and continued scrolling to the photos of some of the pages in her book he'd taken while she was still asleep. He intended to ask Glenn to keep his ears out for some of these names the next time they checked in later today. Piece by fuzzy piece, he began to build an image of the world the old Michonne used to inhabit. A world he'd spent his last year stalking around the periphery of. She thought him noble for his efforts, but he wasn't even making a dent.

Michonne had been part of that world; constantly surrounded by very powerful, very dangerous people. Married to, trapped with, one of the most powerful and dangerous among them. She'd been _one of them_.

He didn't like the idea of asking her to be one of them again. But if Glenn couldn't find anything to go on the old fashioned way, he might have to. Only this time, he'd be right there next to her, protecting her.

His phone buzzed. Rick switched apps to read the text from Shane.

 _ **Be there in 5**_

He typed out a reply.

 _ **Usual booth in the back**_

Rick sighed and put his phone down again. He started to reminisce while he waited for either a refill or Shane to materialize. It was impossible not to.

This place was a perfectly preserved Polaroid of his old life. It stood a relic, its old fashioned marquee a familiar sight to the interstate traffic, announcing the halfway point between Atlanta and King County. It was a routine stop for them during the grueling weeks searching for the missing girls, eventually being forced to loop another county in on a massive manhunt that ultimately went nowhere. If they weren't parked in the cruiser, this booth was where they sometimes gathered to quietly reflect on dead ends, bad news, and all the stress in between.

Perhaps it was fitting for the business at hand.

Every detail was the same, as if he'd been here yesterday. The smell of the strongest coffee in Georgia brewing. The landscape of traffic, rolling plains and small, sparsely populated rural communities spread out among thick clusters of forestland. The chipped countertops; the dusty, coin operated gumball machines; the jukebox selection that hadn't seen anything new since the eighties. Rick remembered all of these things greeting him on early mornings or late nights as he and Shane huddled in the corner booth by the back window.

In the present, Rick took stock of the near empty establishment. There were just two other booths occupied; one by an oldtimer having oatmeal and runny eggs, the other by a family of three. A man, his wife, and their son enjoying a big spread of pancakes with fruit and whipped cream.

He found himself lingering on the family. The little boy's face turned into Carl's within an instant, dropping an anvil on Rick's chest. He saw himself and Lori, both amused and exasperated by their sweet, talkative kid. When they were still in love and acted like it. Before he failed to protect them, be there for them, because of his obsession.

"Here you go, handsome. Strong and pipin' hot!" Trixie, the seemingly ageless waitress with the brassy dye job, interrupted his dark thoughts. She winked at Rick as she refilled his mug.

Rick returned her warm smile, accepting the refill. She seemed pleased to see him, though wise enough not to nag him about where he'd been. She knew his history.

"You're a mind reader, Trixie. It's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, handsome. Where's that sexy partner of yours? My boyfriend?" She had never called either of them by their actual names, and didn't seem to see a need to start now.

He granted her a soft chuckle, deciding not to correct her about his estranged relationship with his _former_ partner. "Late."

"Some things never change, huh, handsome?"

"Nah...not really, I guess." Rick watched her move to the table with the family, making her rounds in the same fading yellow and white apron from when he was a regular.

He was taking his first sip of the harsh black stuff when Shane finally came in. He was in civilian clothes, wearing a dark cap low across his eyes as he steadily made his way to the back between the long counter and the row of booths. He paused only to nod at Trixie, signaling that he wanted coffee.

Rick sipped his calmly, reading his old friend's body language as he approached. Shane looked tense, and tired. He carried a manilla envelope, his brow set in a deep frown. He deposited the envelope on the table, sliding into the booth and taking off his cap before making eye contact. "Hey."

"You hungover?" Rick squinted at him over his mug. "Or is that your lady killer cologne I smell?"

"Fuck you." Shane ran a hand through his thick black hair and rubbed his eyes. "You weren't the only one up all night, alright? I _wish_ I'd been gettin' some ass..."

"Look, _you_ asked _me_ here this early. I'm guessin' you found somethin'," Rick put his coffee down, his deep blues zeroing in on Shane's pale face, "So what is it?"

Trixie interrupted to sit a mug down and pour Shane's coffee, greeting him warmly as she provided them with two menus, which they both ignored. Rick was starting to feel the tension that had been brewing between them since before he left King County.

This visit wasn't gonna be like the last one. He waited.

Shane sighed somberly, blowing at the steam from his coffee, "I ain't sayin' any of it means jack, but there's some shit that don't add up."

"Such as?"

"Such as the digital footprint on this stuff is almost nonexistent. Lucky for us, hard copies are required by law in King County."

Rick leaned forward, his interest peaked. "I'm listening."

Shane swallowed some of his coffee, staring Rick down. His expression read as clear as day, ' _do you really want to do this?'_ , but his long time friend did not relent. Something like fierce disappointment echoed in Walsh's eyes, but it was replaced by an all business attitude as he slid the manila envelope across the table toward Rick.

"You remember that asshole, Simon?"

Simon Black was an entitled prick and one of the main thorns in Rick's side when they'd been investigating the disappearances. They had both been vying to be appointed undersheriff before the chaos of the case descended upon their small department.

Rick nodded, "Yeah. I remember him."

He remembered coming close to tagging the fucker until he was unconscious toward the end of it, and Shane having to talk him down. When Lori and Carl were killed, however, Rick had been so distraught that he abandoned everything - the case, his feud with Black, everything. He started deteriorating fast. Black used that to remove Rick from the case, and eventually, his badge.

All this history of bad blood passed silently between the two childhood friends.

Rick opened the envelope and fingered through its contents while Shane brought him up to speed.

"He was one of the guys they forced out when you left." Shane sucked his teeth, his eyes wide and serious. "We all knew he was a fuckup. A huge, gapin' asshole, sure. But harmless. Case closed, right?"

On the surface, that's what it looked like. This had been King County's first very big, very public failure as a department in decades. As one of its leaders, Simon Black had indeed proven himself to be a fuckup and an asshole. Grandstanding seemed to be more important to him than actually cracking the case. He ignored Rick's hunches, refused to follow up on leads he deemed too far fetched, and generally bungled things from the moment he joined the case. He did his own thing, at every step, causing double the stress on Rick and everyone else.

Rick had a good idea where Shane was going with this.

It was Black's team that dropped the ball on tracking Rosita's car. Black who refused to see outside the lines of the cookie-cutter profile he assigned to whomever killed those women. Black who was in charge when the case went cold. At the time, Rick attributed this to his laziness, his ego, his stubborn need to rely heavily on the 'tried and true'. And for that, he was quietly asked to resign in the face of pressure from the community and press. That was the official story.

Rick pulled out a photocopy of a wrap sheet. It was Black's. Something he had never seen before. Something he intuited was never meant to be seen by anyone except the parties involved. He raised an eyebrow at Shane, who nodded grimly. "How'd you get this?"

"Read it."

Black had been picked up five times for assault and battery over nearly a decade, all involving prostitutes. His case file had been buried. He'd been able to move freely as a cop without much more than a slap on the wrist for years, and they'd had no idea.

"Someone covered this up for him…"

"Bingo," Shane said, reminding Rick of countless times hearing that expression from him, just that way, over the years. He kept digging through the paperwork.

There was also a case file on prostitute number five, Tracy Myers. Her wrap sheet was typical, in and out for prostitution and other petty crimes. Let out early on her last stint at Baldwin State for good behavior. She had given a statement, detailing what Black had done to her while she was trapped in the passenger seat of his truck. It wasn't pretty. It was down right brutal, bordering on sick.

But that, too, had been buried from easily accessible public record. Now both Black and Myers were in the wind.

"After all the mess, most o'the fall guys moved on. I tracked everyone down, but _that_ motherfucker went 'off grid' around the same time as _this_." Shane pulled the photo that Rick had given him with the closeups of the truck bearing Rosita Espinosa's plates out of his back pocket. "I hate to admit it, but I don't think that's a coincidence. Guess what kinda truck he assaulted Tracy Meyers in."

Rick looked up from the photos sharply. "He owns one of these?"

Shane sniffed and swallowed more coffee, whatever brittle fatigue he'd been suffering from seeming to thaw away with the heated caffeine. "Look closer."

Rick noticed that the Meyers assault took place inside a vehicle Black claimed belonged to a 'friend'. Probably to avoid being caught, which of course backfired because of his apparent lack of impulse control. A black utility truck. The make and model fit what Rick thought he'd seen in the blurry traffic shot, minus the enclosed truck bed. The plates in the report were registered to an Antonin Novak, but there was no other information. The last known address for Meyers was in Rabun County, some miles from here.

"And you think this is the same truck."

"I dunno, man. But I figure...if you find Meyers, or Novak...you can find Black," Shane shrugged, "maybe you'll find some answers."

Rick sat back in the booth and sighed hard, rubbing at the stubble on his chin.

It was _something_ , alright. The first concrete lead he'd had since he began. Truth be told, he hadn't had all that much faith that Shane would deliver anything close to this. Part of it gave him pause, part of it made him think - Black fit the profile. Volatile, arrogant; his ego buoyed by the aid of his silent benefactors within the police force. A tightly concealed history of violence against the women society deemed unworthy of justice, or even empathy.

A serpent in the weeds. It was possible that when he couldn't gain satisfaction from brutal assault and battery, he'd ventured into much more macabre practices to feed his habits. Habits that sent him into the dark, picking off young girls, covering his tracks while leading an investigation targeting him. Possible that all the fanfair around the case gave him a bigger hardon than beating up prostitutes. That was his biggest mistake, his insatiable need for violence, regardless of who noticed.

But there were more questions than answers. Now, the part that gave him pause.

Rick met Shane's eyes, that creeping tension between them filling the small space of the corner booth.

He repeated his earlier question: "How'd you get this?"

Shane was silent for a moment, his dark, shining eyes wide with intensity. The fatigue Rick glimpsed earlier seemed to envelop him again, just that quickly. Finally, he answered with a small scoff:

"Cops don't rat on other cops, you know? I risked my goddamned neck, that's how. For _you_. Because you asked." His gaze now burrowed into Rick's. "My good friend, the one I haven't seen in over a year. Remember him?"

Rick clenched his jaw and replaced the documents inside the manilla envelope. That was the thing Shane still didn't understand. He had a feeling the purpose of this setup at the Sunday Diner was about to manifest. Impatient, he nudged it along. "If you got somethin' on your mind, spit it out, Shane."

"Alright...Black's a good lead. He was a fuckup, a bastard trick, and yeah, maybe somethin' worse. You know what else, though? As far as I can tell, the only person tamperin' with evidence was _you_."

Rick grunted with cheerless amusement, but allowed Shane to spit it out.

"The cold case archives. A few weeks after you burned out. You stole copies of evidence, didn't ya?" Shane's eyes were full of that fierce disappointment again. "Bribed some poor bastard who could've lost their job, like you sweet talked Jessie Anderson, right?"

Right. Shane thought he could bring Rick here, soften him up in familiar territory, and stage a one-man intervention. Never something for nothing. Of course there was a catch.

"Sounds like what's good for the goose is good for the gander, Shane." He held up the envelope in indication. "You gonna turn me in?"

"Goddamn, you don't ever listen." Shane reared back with barely contained frustration. "If there _is_ a cover up?" He implored his friend, and Rick felt that tension double in weight as he spoke, "if there _is_ somebody powerful enough to torpedo a case this big, and they figure out you're lookin' into it? You're gonna get caught in the crossfire. Do you get that?"

"I get that. That's why I asked _you_." The eldest of the two paused for a moment, thinking. "Maybe that was a mistake." Rick tapped the envelope on the table, settling its contents. "I appreciate your help, but this should be the end of the line for us."

" _Fuckin' Christ,"_ Shane hissed, struggling to keep his voice down. Rick kept worrying his tightly clamped jaw to keep his own agitation at bay. "I meant maybe you're _too close_ to this to see the forest for the trees, bud _,_ like last time."

Shane's expression gave Rick more than pause. It gave him a sinking heaviness inside. He immensely disliked the look in the other man's eyes.

He leaned forward, his own pale blues hard as steel. "Like last time...hm."

He silently dared Shane to cross the line that would send them both to opposite sides of the universe again, this time for good. Against his will, his gaze traveled just for a moment to the family of three paying their bill and gathering to leave the diner. The bottomless heaviness quaked. He quickly returned to their silent standoff, but it was too late. Shane noticed.

The only noise now the wave-like echoes of the traffic passing outside, Shane's eyes were somehow deeper and blacker than Rick had ever seen.

"You have any idea what it was like watchin' you break down when Lori and Carl-?"

" _Don't._ " Rick growled, a miserable deluge of despair threatening him.

Shane ignored him and kept going.

"I lost three of my best friends, brother. You don't think _I_ grieved? " Bitter resentment now. Rick took it, sitting in his discomfort, unable to keep the memories from forcing him into stillness. "You got any idea what it was like cleanin' up all that mess with you in the wind? Now you come back, and it's the same sick shit all over again. You can't see why I'm warnin' you...I'm _asking_ you...not to go down this rabbit hole?"

"You expect me to ignore this?" Rick tapped the envelope harshly, unable to address anything but the evidence in front of him yet. The rest was like trying to grab hold of an angry cobra. "You taking it back?"

Shane shook his head sadly. "You asked me to see what I could find. I found a big mess, and all signs point to you being right about how powerful these people could be. How far are you gonna take this?"

"To the end." Rick said without hesitation.

That fierce disappointment again. "What if you never come back? Or is it your fuckin' plan, to get yourself killed by some shadow mob you know next to nothin' about? For some chick who's probably long dead?"

Grimes took a deep breath, and decided to slice Shane's jugular. This would cause them both pain, but it was necessary. "You know, Lori left me a voicemail that day. I never told anyone. I was too far gone."

Shane visibly stiffened, the black pools of his eyes deepening further and further.

"Said she had to tell me somethin'." Rick could hear her panicked voice in his head, now. But he forced himself to keep going even as wounds opened up inside the emptiness engulfing him and began to bleed. He chuckled sadly, absurdly. " _God,_ I must've listened to it a hundred times. I could never figure it out. What the hell was so important that she was on her cell phone while she was drivin'? Thinkin'," he snapped his fingers, "if she had _just_ caught that green light sooner…maybe...maybe they would've lived."

She never saw it coming. Lori lost control of the car right after the voicemail, skidded off the road and crashed into a ditch. Dwight Warren had blown out her tires. He stalked up to the car, shot into it without warning, and took everything they had on them. Carl died instantly. Lori bled out before help could arrive.

He paused, choking back his grief, glaring at Shane defiantly. He watched realization crystallizing in the other man's expression. Anger now burned as he finally, _finally_ allowed himself to give voice to the dagger-like suspicion he'd held at bay for _years_.

"That's what I told myself. Over and over. 'She's dead and you'll never figure it out, Grimes.'" He sniffed, wiping his eyes. "But truth is, I always knew."

Rick's cold blue gaze cut into Shane's deep black one. Shane swallowed hard, cowed into silence. There was nothing for him to say. Rick hadn't been ready to do this at the bowling alley. There was no need to. But he _had_ to now.

"She was comin' from your place out in the sticks. I know she went there to borrow a rifle, but she coulda done that any time. Maybe she went there to break off your affair, huh? Only she got robbed and brutally murdered for her trouble."

If Lori hadn't been there, she wouldn't have been killed and neither would Carl. Rick blamed Shane for their deaths as much as he blamed the murderer rotting in prison for it.

He tilted his head again, icy finality in his gaze. "Think I might be onto somethin', partner? Friend? _Brother?_ "

"Rick...I…"

Suddenly the space between them was infinitesimal, and yet as vast as the valleys spread out across the Grand Canyon. "You what? You're sorry? You want your friend back?"

Trixie approached to refill them, and she could sense the tension. She did it quickly and slipped away gain as if their standoff would scald her for getting too close.

"You don't get your friend back, Shane." Rick pulled out his wallet and put cash on the table. "Not ever. Thanks for your help. And you're right. I'm too close to this thing to stop now, but not you. You get out of it and _stay_ out. We're done here."

He stood up, taking the envelope with the evidence against Black and the thin leads on Meyers and Novak with him. Shane sat there, staring at the salt and pepper shakers on the tabletop as though he was sinking into the same abyss Rick found himself in when his wife and child were murdered.

He paused before walking away. "Superguns? Know anythin' about 'em?"

His former friend looked up at him finally, those black eyes of his still plummeting into the deep.

"Not a damn thing."

Rick lifted the envelope in a gesture of goodbye and walked out of the diner. He got into his Bronco, started her up, and drove off.

Shane sat there, processing, still emptying. His Beast was clawing and snarling at his insides. Rick's mental breakdown had been a mercy. But it hadn't worked. Now he was going to have to kill his best friend. And then Shane Walsh would really be gone for good. So be it.

He picked his phone out of his jacket, pulled his black cap back onto his head, and paid the bill with a generous tip. He dialed a number. After three rings exactly, like every other time, The Master answered.

"Is it done?"

"Yessir."

"And the woman?"

The Beast took a deep, steadying breath and walked past Trixie without a second glance, headed to his pickup. "Soon."

"Why don't you pay a little visit to Mrs. Anderson first? Have some fun."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't fuck up this time, cowboy. I want my new collection items _intact_."

The Master hung up.

Now for the fun part.

Shane started up the pickup and set out for Atlanta.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hello! We're back! How many times have I promised a Negan chapter? I've lost count. You'll be pleased to know I'm writing it as we speak. The Beast storyline will be closing out soon, in a bloody, angsty crescendo. And then Bonnie and Clyde will finally go on the run. We'll also check in with Andre, Sabine and Michonne next chapter. More to come (yes, we really are back for a while).**_

 _ **Thank you all. You're amazing. There's a public playlist for this on Spotify entitled 'Vantage Point | The Soundtrack'. Check it out.**_

 _ **-K**_


	20. the wolfe and the mole

_Written to the musical score of..._

' _Canção do Mar', Dulce Pontes_

* * *

Carol watched the sun rise through the window in her drab, practically antique hotel room in Florence, Colorado.

She sat with her arms on her knees, smoking a cigarette. Her head was tilted toward the shaft of wheat-colored light beaming in from the desert valley surrounding the small town.

In the distance, just at the foot of the horizon, stood the ADX Supermax prison, crowned in rippling heat waves rising from the ground. Somewhere inside the bowels of that place, Negan Wolfe was rotting in solitary confinement. He was close, but still very far away.

She was getting a tension headache, listening to her boss berate her. She could use a cold, stiff screwdriver right about now.

"You think you've pissed off enough people in Atlanta?"

"No, I think I'm trying to do my job. We got one of them. The APD wanted him, but he's too important to let them get their hooks into him," she attempted to explain, but she only seemed to egg him on.

"And how the hell is he useful to me _in a coma?_ It's bad enough you abandoned a case we were about to clench so you could go off chasing your bullshit obsession with Negan Wolfe."

"Sir, you're forgetting about the first attacker," Carol took another drag, still rubbing her forehead, bouncing her leg beneath her elbow impatiently, "that's not bullshit, that's a pattern. We have good reason to believe he sent them both and he'll send _more_. All I need is a little time. You know as well as I do, when he puts his mind to something, nothing gets in his way."

"Forty-eight hours. You have exactly _forty-eight hours_ to prove that's even possible from where he is, starting right the fuck _now_ , or you will walk away from Wolfe, you got it?"

If it got him off her back for a couple of days, fine. "Understood, sir."

She listened to him sigh hard. "You're spread thin enough as it is, Carol. I've a mind to redirect your focus _for_ you."

Carol stood up and began to pace. "To whom?" she hissed, failing to keep the incredulity out of her normally unflappable tone.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about."

"Sir, there is no evidence to suggest Michonne Williamson had anything to do with-"

"No? Why, because you have a hard-on for her? We never trusted her to begin with, you know that. The only reason we aren't on her like stink on shit is because she gave us Wolfe."

"And she's been clean for five years. That and immunity, that was the deal." She muttered through clenched teeth, her impatience rising.

"She was the guy's _wife_ , for Christ's sake. You think she doesn't know how to lay low just long enough for us to let our guard down? If she's dirty, I want her. "

Carol had of course considered this. Still, she kept her cool. "Sir, you think she's trying to kidnap _herself?_ Put her own son in danger?"

"I think she's got secrets, agent. Secrets you're ignoring, like you've been doing for years. I know you've got a soft spot for battered women, but you're way out on a limb with this one."

She had no retort. And he had _no idea_.

"If you don't find anything concrete on Wolfe soon, you start digging into Williamson. Or I'm putting you _and_ your men on desk duty until The End of Days. You're a good agent, but you're causing me a lot of problems, Carol. Too many. Fix this shit, or it's your ass."

He didn't even wait for her to answer. He ended the call, his final say on the matter ringing loud and clear. "Asshole."

Her stomach growled. Daryl had better be back soon with breakfast, or she was liable to eat one of her shoes. Luckily, three knuckle raps sounded from the door a few minutes later.

Carol opened it to find him holding up two bags of diner food. The aroma made her stomach growl again. "There better be hashbrowns in there."

"Yup," he handed her one of the bags and side-stepped her petite frame and cast a lanky stride toward the tiny kitchenette. "And scrambled eggs with extra crispy bacon, like you like it. How did your check-in with Director Dickhead go?"

"He's pissed, but he actually managed a bit of restraint this time." She smirked and put her cigarette out before joining him at the table separating the kitchenette from the bed. "Hatfield's got a vendetta, apparently."

Her partner scoffed dismissively, tossing a slick of hair out of his squinty eyes.

"Basically, we have forty-eight-hours, then it's curtains for both of us, Sundance."

"Same shit, different day, then, Butch," Daryl grunted, pulling out a tray holding two steaming black coffees. He sat it on the table, tossed out creamers and packaged sugars, and dug back into his bag to retrieve his Irish breakfast. "So he thinks we're wastin' our time, or what?"

"He thinks we should be looking into Michonne instead. And _cooperating_ with the APD." Carol eyed his to-go container full of steaming food with distaste as she pulled out her own and uncovered it.

Daryl scooped some beans and a bite of sausage into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "You don't think he's even a little right?"

She hesitated before answering. The last thing she wanted was the eyes of the bureau looking any deeper into Michonne, or they could both go down for what they did. She had to get ahead of this. She had to find out Negan's plan and stop it in its tracks. "No, I want to stick with Wolfe for now. Someone will slip up somewhere. All we need is the right cypher and we've got him."

"So we go in here and, what? Shake 'im down?" Daryl raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. "He's gonna just slip up and give us a clue?"

"No, _I'm_ gonna talk to him. You're gonna start with anyone he's had contact with inside, for any reason." Carol gathered her patience. The twenty questions game was exacerbating her headache. She let the tension hang on the air for a minute while they ate. "Daryl. I spent years on this guy. I know him. Don't worry."

"I ain't worried, Carol. Not yet." Her partner replied solemnly, sipping his coffee.

Carol was always careful to choose partners she could trust to follow her lead, and it had served her well. Next to Porter, Daryl was her most loyal ally, but he also had a tendency to somewhat slyly call her bluff. She couldn't worry about it right this moment. They didn't have a lot of time. She needed to assess whether or not any of this had to do with her deal with Michonne. It would help her decide how to move forward.

Though she hated admitting it to herself, her boss was right. She _was_ spread thin. This wasn't the movies. She wasn't 007. There was no endless government budget to plunder for her needs. No cave full of shadow men to deploy at will. She had a very small window, very short leads, and a bunch of fires burning at the same time. Same shit, different day.

All on account of the woman formerly known as Eva Wolfe. A woman she'd dedicated more of the last few years to protecting than she cared to acknowledge. She hoped Rick's obvious overprotectiveness would win out over his desire to give his neighbor whatever those pretty lips of hers begged from him.

Carol had been in his shoes. In many ways, she still was, even if she couldn't reap the direct benefit. She knew that incredible creature's mysterious pull all too well.

A fleeting thought about Michonne returning to her old life passed through her mind like a specter. She wondered if she should just let her run. Maybe that would draw Negan out of his hole to feed a lot faster than trying to break into his intricate network of sycophantic killers herself.

If push came to shove...it was an option.

Daryl got a call while they were eating. She watched as he received new information, delivered some orders with a series of grunts, and hung up. "That was Atlanta. They found where the samurai kid was staying. Some old ass hotel, it ain't on a map and it ain't open to the public, but facial recognition caught 'im leavin' before the attack. I got Baby Face on it," he informed her, referring to Aaron. "Tobin'll stay with Michonne until he's done lookin' into it. Told 'im to debrief us as soon as he's got somethin'."

"And Grimes?"

Daryl shrugged. "Looks like he's huntin' that kidnappin' trail he told you about."

"Good. Thanks." Carol finished her food and her coffee, had another cigarette, and checked the time. "Let's go."

"Yes ma'am..." Daryl gave her a wink and cleaned up their mess.

* * *

Michonne stood in the middle of her living room, cradling a hot mug of very strong, but very good coffee. Rick had showed her how he made it his way this morning while the sun rose.

She'd watched his hands working, admiring the starkness of the fresh stitches along the bottom of his knuckles as he scooped the coffee grounds into the filter. Two scoops for every cup instead of one. She'd watched him moving around her kitchen as though he'd been dwelling in this house with her for months instead of hours. He knew everywhere she hid things. She'd listened to his deep, rugged voice, wrapped in that charming drawl of his, as he explained that he had to go to work and might not be back for a couple of days, maybe.

He said he would call to check in, every chance he could. Michonne didn't want to let him go. She held onto him, her fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. He stared at her as though she were a vision that would disappear if he looked away.

She understood they shared the same fears. That this, whatever this was, might fade for the other party in the space between them. Or grow exponentially more acute. Both scenarios were a little scary. She let his body heat envelope and soothe her while the coffee brewed. Inhaled his scent deeply, knowing she'd miss it the second he was out the door. He kissed her for a long time before he left. He held her close with one strong arm around her waist and his stitched hand tangled in her loose locs; his facial hair grazing her soft skin; his warm lips enveloping hers in slow, indulgent exploration.

"Stay outta trouble, Michonne," Rick warned in a low growl against her mouth, squeezing her with a firm, possessive grip.

"Better not be gone too long, then," she gave her own warning, feeling his chest cave in heatedly and his dick stiffen somewhat against the top of her thigh.

He leaned heavily into her, his expression giving Michonne the impression that he wanted nothing more than to pull her tampon out and fuck her against the slippery tile in her shower again. He seemed to restrain himself, however, swallowing hard as he stole a quick, rough kiss.

"Alright," he uttered, his eyes hypnotizing her; willing her to keep her promise to be good. "Be back as soon as I can."

She decided it would be the latter of their fears. She felt pulled in his direction even now, without him anywhere near.

Hours later, the late morning sun dancing across the room, Michonne sipped, walking along the length of her walls, studying the images and notes from the case Rick had agonized over before he ever met her.

She saw his mind in the scribbled notes containing lingering questions and crossed out theories. How hard he'd worked, how obsessed he must've been with finding these girls. She felt how frustrating and stressful it was for him, pouring over the same details over and over until they blurred and became meaningless. And then, when he needed hope the most, having it all washed away from him in a merciless tide of tragedy. The death of his family. The loss of his job. Exile from the only people who knew the man he once was.

She was no stranger to the fucked up directions life could take, with one powerless to stop them. Her heart ached for him as she stood there, gazing at a photo of Tara Chambler smiling happily in a blown up copy of her college I.D.

Michonne knelt, setting her coffee mug down on the floor, and picked up a dusty file with the big red letters **COPY** stamped across it. She opened it and began examining the report on Naomi Cross, one of the girls they'd actually found alive. This one was pretty damned sad. She'd been barely alive when they found her, drifting downriver. A group of young fishermen pulled her out and got her to a nearby hospital, but she died hours later before she could even be interviewed by the police. Despite their efforts, her body shut down, her organs failing one by one until she was gone.

Michonne frowned, reading the report carefully. Something about this seemed odd to her. The doctors were stumped, only able to guess at acute shock, but that still should have been easily treatable once she'd been put in proper care.

This was more than shock. This was an analgesic. It had to be. But that didn't make any sense. It would imply that someone in that hospital killed the girl. "Oh, Rick...you're really in deep, aren't you, baby?"

Her doorbell rang. Michonne abandoned her coffee and the file on the floor and went to see who it was. Tobin was standing on her porch, wiping his brow of perspiration with the cuff of his suit jacket.

Michonne opened it, not embarrassed at all to be wearing Rick's shirt from yesterday and her favorite little cut off sweat shorts. "Bored hanging out in the van?" she teased with a resplendent smile.

Tobin smirked as she stepped aside to let him in. She peered around for his missing partner before closing the door behind her.

"That, and I've been told to stay close. Aaron got a lead on your attacker from the hospital, he's gone to check it out, so here I am to keep you company."

"What is it?" Michonne crossed her arms, her pulse quickening with something like hope.

"Where he was staying before he showed up to get you. Tracked him to a room in what we think is a hotel. Word is the place 'doesn't exist'," he made air quotes, "at least not on a map or in any public records. No offense, but this case just keeps gettin' weirder and weider," Tobin sighed, resembling a weary old man in desperate need of a vacation.

Michonne nodded in concession. "That's not surprising. It's certainly Negan's style. So..." she took a deep breath, trying not to let her fear manifest to shake her resolve. "You guys think you can stop this?"

"We're going to do everything we can. Maybe we can grab something useful from the place; track the rest of the hit squad down. We'll know more in a couple hours. You're safe now, so is your family. Don't worry, Ms. Williamson."

"Thank you. I'm trying not to. And please, call me Michonne?"

"Michonne it is, then."

Tobin seemed relieved to be in the air conditioning. As he looked around his face became stunned and curious. He gestured to the photocopies on her wall with his thick index finger, his eyebrows raised. It looked like a war room back at the CID in here.

"What's all this, Michonne?"

"Something you can help me with. Well help _Rick_ with, really. Hungry? I'll tell you all about it with some waffles."

" _Starving._ And is there any more coffee?" Tobin agreed easily.

"Yeah, sure," Michonne grinned.

"Excellent!" He took off his jacket, draped it across the couch, and gingerly stepped over her mug, Rick's file, and a snooping Hercules to follow her into the kitchen.

* * *

Peletier and Dixon were greeted at the ADX by Deputy Warden Jordan Vega.

She was a tall woman with butterscotch skin, shoulder-length, billowy black curls, perpetually pursed lips and deep, expressive hazel eyes. She possessed the kind of dogmatic aura that a person in her profession could not survive without.

Carol imagined this woman had scratched and clawed her way to this position; specifically, the seedy eyes of a constellation of arrogant men.

Vega escorted them through a seemingly endless series of remote-controlled steel doors that buzzed loudly as their shadows bounced off the depressingly void, off-white halls. Her sensible black heels echoed hollowly around them as she led them to her office in the back of the facility overlooking the courtyard. She debriefed them as they went.

"Look, this isn't exactly the most convenient time. Warden Jefferson is still in recovery. But the CID director called me personally. He doesn't see too much harm in your being here, so here we are."

Carol offered her a curt nod of thanks, translating that to mean her boss got them clearance to prove a point. He didn't think this was worth the time, or the fuss, and neither did Vega. They were being 'humored'. This was a paper thin courtesy. Fine. As long as she got what she came for.

"What happened to the warden?" Carol changed the subject, scanning the wall-to-wall cells containing some of the world's most dangerous criminals as they walked. They hadn't been told about it, or Wolfe's transfer to solitary.

Vega slowed her long-legged stride and turned around to face them, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "He was attacked. Almost paralyzed," she admitted grimly, "Wolfe is in solitary in part because ever since he got here, he's had a kind of...influence...over some of the prisoners."

Carol and Daryl exchanged looks. "And you believe he got some schmuck to attack the warden," she finished for Vega.

The deputy warden nodded, her expression tight and serious. "Maximus Shaw. Apparently, he was in debt to Wolfe from years before, when he was in his prime. We took him down; had him transferred to Marion."

"Why the hell would he have the warden attacked?" Daryl shook his head. "Don't make no sense."

"No...it doesn't…" his partner agreed. Negan did a lot of things that made no sense, until they did. She filed this information away for examination later. "Who else in here owes Wolfe something?" she demanded softly.

Vega beckoned them to continue toward her office. "Let's just say we felt the need to keep him confined and cut off all contact with other prisoners indefinitely. But that was months ago. I'm not sure if our two situations are related, here."

"Yeah, we'll decide that for ourselves," Daryl rasped as they passed through yet another series among the fourteen-hundred steel doors throughout the behemoth prison.

They made it to her office. She allowed them inside first and followed brusquely, gesturing that they help themselves to water or coffee from the table in the corner by a long bookshelf. Carol declined but Daryl took some coffee and poured it into a paper cup, sipping it black. Vega walked around her desk and unbuttoned her suit jacket, stretching out her long arms as she sat down. She folded her hands over her large, simple oak desk, her expressive hazel eyes latching onto Carol's steely silver-blues.

"This is very sensitive, you understand."

"Of course." Carol countered carefully, continuing to stand.

Vega continued, "Wolfe is a handful. He's got a mouth on him, and a reputation no one wants to fuck with. Half the inmates would rather cut off their own toes than cross him. You'll be lucky to get anything out of any of them."

"Noted." Daryl answered gruffly.

"We've been trying to keep the press in the dark about what happened to Jefferson. You showing up here isn't exactly helping."

"What do you need?"

"Your guarantee that whatever you're here for, you extract it _quietly_. I've got enough on my plate without it implied that this prison is compromised in any way."

"That we can do."

"So, what is it that _you_ need?" Vega seemed somewhat satisfied with their bargain.

Carol crossed her arms and squinted down at the woman. "The informant who helped us put him here is in grave danger. We think he's orchestrating attacks from inside, but we don't know how yet."

Vega raised a sharp eyebrow. "So, you _are_ implying that this prison is compromised."

"I said we'd keep it quiet, but yes, we are." Vega did not look happy, but she remained silent. "All I need is some time to have a look at your list of inmates, do a little digging, see if anyone else owes him favors…"

"There are over eight hundred inmates here. You sure you have time for that?"

Carol smiled. "Daryl's an excellent tracker. He knows what we're looking for."

The deputy warden's eyes cut over to Daryl skeptically, but she nodded. "Anything else?"

Slowly, watching for her reaction, Carol added, "...and I'd like to speak to Negan."

" _Whoa_ ," Vega scoffed loudly, balking at Carol as though she'd suddenly grown an extra head. "That is _out of the question._ Records and an interrogation room I can do, but no one sees Wolfe. _No one_ , not even me. He's too dangerous."

"We have reason to believe there will be more attacks, just like your warden and whatever else you're not telling us. I need to interview him."

"What the hell could you possibly hope to get out of him?" Vega remained dubious, bordering on hostile. She ignored Carol's accusation of withholding information. "The guy's a nightmare! Even if you get him talking, who's to say you won't end up giving _him_ something?"

Carol stared her down, aware of Daryl's telling silence. He thought she had a point.

"Why don't you let me worry about that?"

Vega chewed her bottom lip, frowning hard. Carol could practically see the headache coming on as the younger woman took a deep, calming breath. "You can have five minutes. No more."

"I'll take it, thank you."

After a long, heavy silence, Vega nodded pensively. "I'll get you set up and then I'll have my men take you to him."

* * *

Tobin and Michonne stood side by side in her living room, full from breakfast and focused on Rick's missing girls.

"This guy's a collector." The older agent muttered, his eyes raking from one missing girl's photo to the next. "This is impressive."

Michonne nodded, already beginning to see the possibilities of their temporary partnership.

"On the surface, they all seem like random snatches." He gestured to the grim spread. "Tara. Rosita. Megan. Naomi. Kate. All young, pretty, undergrads, talented, bright. Different looks, different personalities. All ambushed. No witnesses."

"He watched them for weeks." Michonne recalled from Rick's notes, cradling fresh coffee to her stomach for the warmth to soothe her lingering cramps.

Tobin nodded. "Looks like it, yeah. He spent a lot of time on them. He knew their routines. Only…" he stepped forward, letting his fingers land on Amy's photo. "Kate and Amy...they were taken last. About a year apart. They were ambushed much more violently. Even kinda recklessly. Still no witnesses, but there's something different about these two."

"But the bodies they found," Michonne was observing the photos of Rosita's body, "Rick said they were found out of order from when they were taken."

Tobin turned to her, his eyes rising from her curious face to Rosita's lifeless, partially exposed form lying crumbled in the dirt by the train tracks. "Hm. And the department's running theory was they might be scattered all over, waitin' to get found?"

"Yeah," She confirmed what Rick had told her; what she'd repeated to Tobin over breakfast.

It was a damn shame. It was the like the boys in tan and gold were simply waiting out these poor girls' deaths and playing garbage men instead of actively trying to catch this guy. No wonder Grimes had been frustrated.

"So what do _you_ think?" Tobin asked, intrigued.

Michonne took a deep breath and walked closer to Rosita's photo. "Well...if Rick is right, they weren't meant to ever be seen again, but not because they were being taken to kill."

"Huh." Tobin rubbed his chin. He took a moment to walk the wall again, the two of them always coming back to the girls who were found. "So why'd they end up dead?"

Michonne whispered: "Rick said Rosita was a fighter. Kate, too. Naomi. Look at what their friends and family said about them. The _way_ they were found."

She pointed to Rosita, haphazardly dumped half-naked for anyone with eyes to come along and see. Her underwear missing a part of it in the shape of a heart. And the others, even fishing Naomi from the river, all just dumped out in the open with no hint of an effort to hide their whereabouts. It reeked of a sneering, scathing rebuke. A final humiliation. It reminded her of when Negan would make her go out in public after a good beating. When she had to wear makeup and sunglasses, and endure the strange looks of their rich, powerful 'friends'. It was cruel and it was sick. It was the most vile anger she could imagine.

"...maybe...maybe they were being punished."

"For disobeying some rule…?" Tobin finished for her.

"Of course." Michonne nodded, stunned with the horror of it all. "That makes sense. The ones he killed, they were defiant; maybe tried to escape or-or rejected him in some way?"

"Fits with the 'collector' vibe, yeah, maybe."

Tobin rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn't worked a case this sinister or complex in a while. He'd been a much younger man the last time they let him near something like this. He'd been pulling surveillance and babysitting duty since he started approaching retirement age. But he still remembered his training, and he still knew his stuff. It was a nice break from Wolfe mania.

"So that's what we'll go on, for now," he finally agreed, reaching one long arm out to pluck Amy Jones's photo from the wall. "But it still doesn't explain why the change of M.O. all of sudden. What else have you got on her case?"

Michonne padded barefoot over to another section of the wall and pointed out the photo of the blown up brand mark Morgan 'The Bullet Man' had recreated from the bullet holes in Amy's car.

"What do you think of _this_ shit?"

Tobin tore his eyes from Amy's photo and peered over at the strange symbol.

"Never seen anything like it up close. If it's what I think it is." He shook his balding head in wonder. "We've heard of shit like this, but the chatter is inconclusive. Urban legend, so to speak."

Michonne sighed. "Yeah, I figured. Okay...hang on a minute, what about this?"

She showed him the file on Naomi she'd been looking at before he came in. He flipped through, reading the report, then looked up at her curiously. "What about it?"

"That wasn't shock."

"Then what was it?"

"I think it was medically induced. I just don't know what was used, yet."

"You mean you think she was murdered _after_ she was picked up?"

"Maybe?" She could see him beginning to disagree with her. She cut him off before he could start. "Just hear me out, okay? Shock is easily treatable, but she died anyway, so why? I think it was a misdiagnosis. Something untraceable was in her system, something was shutting this girl's organs down _methodically_ , _persistently_ , because it wasn't being treated properly. Something they would never think of. That _can't_ be an accident."

Tobin held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, one thing at a time. How about I check out these symbols and you check out whatever it is you think killed this girl. Deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

The solitary confinement ward was dark, cold, and dead silent.

If there were any inmates alive in here, one wouldn't know it.

Three security guards escorted Carol through several dank back hallways and a long, sinister corridor until they reached what could only be described as the bowels of the facility. They walked her past rows of eighty-square-foot cells enclosed in heavy, rusting alloy doors.

They called this place The Hole.

When they reached the very end of the row of confinement cells, the guards stopped her at the very last one. It was a few inches larger than the others. Its peep hole was as large as an average-sized head, unlike the thirty or so other identical cells that were only outfitted with holes big enough to fit a pair of eyes.

Even in The Hole, he'd managed to finagle special treatment. Fucker.

One of the grim-faced guards walked up, his semi-automatic weapon resting on his hip, and rapped loudly on the door before roughly unlatching the peep hole and sliding it open.

The guard nodded for Carol to step forward. She did, close enough to make out a small cot, a toilet, and a man.

It was Negan. He was sporting a salt and pepper beard, neatly trimmed, and wire rimmed eyeglasses, but it was him.

He didn't even seem all that surprised to see her again, after all these years. He smiled.

"Well, well, well." His voice had not changed. Still loaded with a trickster's lilt, deep and sandy and charming. Threatening in its utter absence of fear. He gave her name a theatrical, mocking bit of flourish. " _Special Agent Carol Peletier._ Hoooly shit. What brings you to my neck o'the desert, Silver Fox? Where's Lurch?"

He was referring to Porter. Or Daryl. Or both. He knew Carol preferred working with the strong silent type. He knew too much. It was part of what made him so dangerous.

It was time to find out what else he knew.

Carol was silent for a moment, pushing down the bile that arose in her throat at the sound of his voice and the sight of that cheshire grin. He'd been reading a book in the ugly, pale yellow light of his cell, but he closed it with a gleeful thud. Her visit had given him a new plaything, it seemed.

Finally, Carol spoke to him. "Comfortable?"

Negan wheezed with laughter.

"Oh, I'm just dandy, darlin'. Ain't that right, Pete?" Negan called to one of the guards, who flinched at the familiarity but otherwise ignored him. "I got my books. I get chocolate pudding twice a day if I'm a good boy. I got some peace and quiet. I'm peachy _fuckin'_ keen."

She didn't miss the arctic flash of anger in his eyes.

He sat on his cot, legs crossed, hands folded over his book. He grinned wider, that machiavellian gleam of his intensifying beneath those modest glasses.

Carol wasn't fooled by the content old inmate act. Not one little bit.

This was a man who had lived in the lap of obscene luxury, violence, and power since he was in his twenties. He'd been a formidable criminal, virtually unrivaled for decades. A strong, attractive, charismatic kingpin. He was still handsome and obviously still charming as fuck, but he seemed somewhat more sinister than ever, sitting in his Hole in the middle of nowhere.

"Maximus Shaw." She said, watching for his reaction. Negan's brow furrowed, but his smile remained. "Know him?"

"Hm." Her years-long enemy chuckled and scratched his beard. "Trick question, there, Clarice? I think you answered that one before you pranced your bony little ass down here."

He sat his book aside, stood up and stretched like a lazy cat.

"Yeah, that rings a bell. He's the crackpot who shanked the shit outta the warden. Don't think that bloated son of a bitch is gonna walk again." Negan sucked at his teeth, sauntering toward her slowly. "Ouch. _Nasty._ "

"Jason Gonzales." She named the first thug who broke into Michonne's apartment. Then his brother, "or how about Manuel Gonzales? Served with you at Rikers."

He stopped walking, narrowing his eyes above his smile. "Nope," he popped the 'p'.

"You sure about that? Because we know Manuel used to work for you. So did Shaw."

"Ohhh, darlin'. You're gonna hafta do better than that. A hell of a lot o'men worked for me. You have no idea." He chuckled with something like nostalgia. "Does this line of questioning have a point? Or is this just foreplay? I do like a cougar in a good pants suit." He winked at her.

"You've been busy these last few weeks. Not the wisest move, Negan."

Negan made it to the door, leaning both hands against it, leering at her up close.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot…" he totally ignored her last statement, "dick and balls ain't your flavor. You like fiiiine dinin', don't ya?" He made a lude gesture with his tongue, and then a crack showed in his gleeful facade, his cold anger suddenly turning molten. "Like my sneaky cunt of an ex wife, right? How's she doin', by the way? She gettin' along alright with that kid o'hers? You know what they say, boys will be boys."

Carol didn't answer. Of course. He _knew_ , and not only was he not attempting to hide it, he was _seething_. Whatever he had planned, it was _bad_.

"Tell me, agent, you ever taste Eva's cookie? I know you were just dyin' to back in the day. Come on, you can tell ole Negan." He gestured around them. "As you can see, your secret would be safe with me. I know you love a good secret just as much as you love a sad little sob story."

Carol returned his cold smile. "I'll bet a lot of people owe you favors, don't they?" She ignored his taunting, standing up to him, just as close. She could almost smell the rot in his soul. "And I'll bet some of those people are pretty terrified." The 'silver fox' agent shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe even enough to accept protection for what they know. Just like your ex wife did."

Negan scoffed. "I'm gonna be in this hole until I turn to dust, sweetheart. What good is chasin' a ghost gonna do me?"

"So what are you chasing, Negan? You upset your wife turned on you? The one person you thought you could control forever? The _one_ person you let inside, really deep down where no one else could get? I'll bet that just burns your ass, doesn't it?"

Negan lost his smile. "You really think you know that evil bitch, don't ya?"

And then he was laughing. Loudly. Insanely. He wiped tears from his eyes.

"You _REALLY THINK_ you can stop her from being exactly. Who. She. _Always._ Was?" His fist pounded against the metal door, drawing the weapons off the hips of the guards behind her. "Well you're dumber than I thought, Silver Fox."

"We know about your little operation at the Paradise Inn. We're raiding it right now."

He stopped laughing and blinked. He hadn't expected her to know about that so soon, then. He hadn't expected one of his hit men to fuck up like that.

Carol's heart was pounding, but she stood her ground while the guards stood at attention behind her. Negan went still, glaring at her.

"We know you have people inside and out doing your dirty work. It's only a matter of time before we sniff out what you're really after. And I promise you, Negan...we _will_."

"And what are you gonna do? Lock me up? _Triple_ my double life sentence?"

"Somewhere much deeper, and darker, and a hell of a lot more miserable than this place, yes. Somewhere even your slimy tentacles can't reach. And trust me you won't be living a life. You won't even be a faded memory."

"Well, karma catches up with us all, don't it? How long you think it'll be before it catches up with you?" His smile spread again, slow and steady. "You give Eva and my kid a nice, heartfelt hello for me, will ya Carol?"

Chilled to the bone, she stepped back and nodded for the guards to close the peephole. Negan watched, his cold smile remaining, until he was cut off from view.

Once they made it out of the confinement ward, she veered off to a side exit, waiting impatiently for them to buzz her out. She rushed into the dry heat, ripping open the top buttons of her blouse to catch her breath.

She felt ill, but all she could manage were dry heaves as she tried to overcome the panic attack that had seized hold of her. When it finally passed (after a few minutes with her head between her knees, heaving into the dirt), she stood upright and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket.

Carol fought off dizziness, dialing Porter's closed line with shaking hands.

"Porter here."

"We have a mole." She gritted, wiping her brow of sweat while pacing in aimless circles. "Maybe more than one. Check _everyone_ out and say _nothing_. Get back to me when you have a lock on something."

"Got it." He hung up.

Carol closed her eyes and steeled her nerves before banging on the door so the guard standing behind it would let her back inside. As she walked, she dialed Grimes.

"This is Rick Grimes. Leave a message."

"Shit!" She hissed, and waited for the beep. Once it was over she spoke in the lowest voice she could manage, rapid-fire, before hanging up: "Grimes, I need a favor. I need you to get Michonne out of Atlanta. Don't tell _anyone_ where, not even my men. I don't care where you go, just make it somewhere no one would ever think to look. Toss your phone. She's got others. I'll be in touch when I can."

* * *

 **A/N: Your patience is like a warm, cozy, soothing blanket. Your reviews are like arrows dipped in inspiration and perseverance in my quiver. I am writing the next update (and several others for all my stories) right now. I know, I know, I am slow, and a bit of a mad scientist, but I'm not done with you yet. This is going to move pretty fast now.**

 **Next...what (or rather who) Rick finds, an unexpected guest for Michonne, danger for Sabine and Andre, and a whole lot more.**

 **Soundtrack available on Spotify. I'll get back into posting a link on my Tumblr (now jonesywrites) with the next and future updates, as well.**

 **-K**


	21. the hunt, part i

**Full steam ahead...enjoy!**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of..._

' _The Hunt', Symmetry_

* * *

Rick sat in his Bronco in the parking lot of The Starlight Motel on the outskirts of Rabun County.

He had driven straight here from the diner. It was the last known address for Tracy Meyers. The kind of place you could check into for a couple of hours or a couple of months. A place with its own set of rules; where a person could hide; be someone else for a while.

It didn't make any sense that Tracy had disappeared. Being released early for good behavior only to blow her parole. Either something very bad had happened to her, or she was hiding from something. Hiding from _someone_. He needed to find out.

Right now, though, he was trying to stave off a mind-splitting headache. Trying, and so far failing, to ignore the voice in his head.

 _Rick? I've got somethin' to tell you._

Rick felt it starting as he'd been driving out here. It was now moving from a whisper to a shout, disturbing and disorienting him. He crushed his eyes shut as the high-pitched timbre of grief sawed right through his skull. He hadn't heard Lori since he started seeing Michonne. He'd been pushed to this place; the confrontation with Shane at the diner a couple of hours ago had triggered the telltale signs of madness he'd been failing to outrun for too long.

 _This is gonna sound crazy,_ _ **but you have to listen to me**_ …

"No." Rick leaned his head forward, landing it against his steering wheel with a heavy grunt.

 _ **Please,**_ _Rick..!_

"Nooo. Come on, Grimes, shake it off," Rick took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. "Not now...you're close. You're _close_. Just get it together."

His phone buzzed in the passenger seat, causing his eyes to pop open. He lifted his head and looked down, bleary-eyed and pained, to see that it was Michonne calling. With a rush of relief, he reached out and answered before the first long buzz finished dancing the device across the worn leather.

"Michonne?"

"Hey, you busy? I've got something really important to tell you."

Unwanted tears spilled down his cheeks. He chuckled sadly, wiping them away as he leaned back in his seat again. It was good to hear _her_ voice. Really, really good.

"I'm never too busy for you, beautiful," he drawled, taking the envelope Shane had delivered and tossing it aside. "I was just about to call you myself, matter of fact."

He refrained from telling her why. Hearing his late wife's last words in his head was probably not something his new - girlfriend? - lover? - addiction? - needed to know about him just yet.

"Rick, are you okay?" She caught onto the distant melancholy in his tone. He felt something almost cataclysmic stirring inside him for her.

"I'm good. Now that I'm talkin' to you."

"Okay, good!" Michonne believed him, and now she sounded excited. He adored the sunshine in her voice. A far cry from the worry and seriousness of their last night together. "So, Tobin's been helping me do some digging since you left, and I think - scratch that, I _know_ \- we're onto something."

Rick frowned slightly, sitting up straight at attention. "Onto somethin' like what?"

Michonne explained that she'd been studying Naomi Cross' file. The girl they'd fished out of the river. The girl who died in the hospital before Rick could question her. That particular incident had been a real blow to his confidence. Her being alive (or, barely) when they found her was the first good news he'd had in months. He had dropped everything to go out there when he got word.

Leaving Lori to attend Carl's last baseball game of the year by herself. His boy's team had won, thanks to his pitching, and Lori had picked a fight with Rick as soon as he dragged his practically despondent ass through the door later that night. That had been the catalyst for a whole week of tense silence. Where he did nothing but work and she did nothing but resent him for it. The week before she and Carl were killed.

Pain picked at Rick's bones like a hungry vulture as he refocused on Michonne's lovely voice.

"Rick, that girl didn't die from shock."

His heart started pounding, Lori's last words to him mercifully fading away for now. "What do you mean?"

"I racked my brain all morning. I even went back to my old PDR," Michonne sounded like she was pacing somewhere in the house, probably the living room, as she continued with an imploring tone, "I think she was given a lethal overdose of sistal. It's been available for over the counter use since then, but the symptoms, they add up."

"How can you be sure?"

"An overdose of sistal starts attacking the nervous system. It looks like shock, but it isn't. Untreated, the internal organs start shutting down. It's fatal in a manner of hours."

Rick's memories began to churn, listening to Michonne's theory. They were kept from Naomi for almost six hours. That's all it took. Rick remembered trying everything he could to just see her for a few minutes; just to see if she was lucid enough to look at photos, answer at least a couple of questions. Shane and that asshole Black both told him he was pushing too hard. The doctors insisted her condition was critical and they needed to stabilize her before she could talk.

But she only got worse, and worse, and worse...until finally he was informed that she had passed away. They all believed she'd been in that river too long; they were too late.

His silence gave Michonne a window to keep going. "Anyway, Tobin found out this plastic surgeon just happened to order enough of the stuff to kill a herd of elephants about three years ago. He had a private practice a town over from the hospital she was taken to."

"I'm guessin' the demand didn't exactly meet up with such a tall order."

"Rick, there's no protocol for sistal in plastic surgery."

Rick's frown deepened. He glared through his windshield, where he could see the motel office manager getting out of his car.

"What was his name? The surgeon?" He uttered gravely, watching the manager unlock and enter the small office he was parked across from.

"Dr. Novak. Antonin Novak?"

The name rang in Rick's ears like an air raid siren.

"He was a bit of a quack. He got sued a few times. There's this story in the local paper, one of his patients accused him of stalking her and hiding _human feet_ in a freezer in his office. No one could prove it, though."

Rick scoffed. This just kept getting better.

"He ended up closing down his practice a few weeks after you were fired."

There was one person connected to Novak who was present at the small county hospital the night Naomi Cross died of 'severe shock'. A person who could have easily given her that overdose without anyone suspecting him. Simon Black.

Simon had been there with Rick, Shane, and some of the local authorities. He could have done it any time. When he said he was taking a piss, while he got vending machine coffee for a potential all-nighter, any time. No one would be the wiser. Least of all Rick, apparently.

Rick felt like this - all of this - was his fault. He had been working with a murdering monster and he had no idea, because he wasn't looking in that direction. He wasn't looking at his own. He felt so responsible and so disgusted.

"Rick? You still there, baby?"

Taking a deep breath, the ex deputy focused on the motel through his windshield again. "Yeah. I'm here. I know that name. My friend Shane found out he owned a truck like the one I'm lookin' for. It's been listed for repossession, but it's nowhere to be found. Neither is he."

"Oh my god…" Michonne whispered over the line. He longed to be near her instead of rooting around in all this muck. "So it _is_ him!"

"It's startin' to look that way. I just need to follow up on somethin', but I'm close. I can feel it."

His phone started buzzing again in his hand. He pulled it away from his ear to see who was calling. It was Carol. Rick stared at the screen for a moment, but decided to ignore the call. He had a lot to process right now, he'd check in with her later. He heard Michonne again.

"Hey, hold on, Tobin wants to talk to you."

Rick started to protest. He'd much rather hear Michonne's lovely voice than Tobin's somewhat curmudgeonly one. Too late. "Hey, Grimes."

"What can I do for you, Tobin?"

Tobin sighed, "I don't think this is just one guy. It can't be."

"If you're thinkin' Novak has an accomplice, I think you're right. And I think I know who it is."

"No, what I think is worse than that. I think you're lookin' at a _whole pack of wolves_ , here. An entire network. The hunters...and the protectors."

Rick considered his words for a beat.

"It's all spread out, all seemingly random, but from the first girl onward, the hunting area never moves past-"

"-Georgia state lines," Rick finished for him.

Tobin continued voicing everything he'd been thinking while he was on the case:

"Right. Because that would be too much to contain. Then the attacks changed from quick and quiet to very violent and reckless. Makes me think either this guy got smart enough to try and confuse the manhunt..."

"...or someone else picked up where he left off." Again, Rick filled in the blanks with his own theory. "More than one kidnapper. People put in place to help cover it all up. The surgeon. The sheriff's department. The city P.D. Hunters and protectors."

"Yep," Tobin confirmed. "You find this guy, you hand him over to us. We'll use him to bring the whole thing down."

Rick let the silence in the cab of his Bronco envelope him as he thought about his and Tobin's corroborating theories. Finally, after all this time, someone believed him without labeling him as overzealous or too obsessed.

"Anythin' else?" He grunted, undoing his seatbelt.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact...but you're not gonna like it."

"What?"

Tobin lowered his voice considerably. "I think you should re-examine the details of your wife and son's murder."

Rick couldn't speak at first. "You... _what?_ "

"Well, Carol had us look into you when you first showed up and, uh," he cleared his throat, clearly trying to hide what he was saying from Michonne, wherever she was now, "well, the circumstances are too close for me to ignore, especially now that I know more about this case, Rick."

Rick felt like the walls of his truck were closing in on him, white heat sprouting along his temples. He shifted in his seat, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles went numb. "What the hell are you saying? We caught the guy. He had my wife's wallet. He confessed. He's rottin' in prison right now."

"Who caught him, Rick?" Tobin insisted in a hushed, though urgent tone. "Your boys at the King County Sheriff's Department? You still trust that confession, knowing everything you know now?"

Rick swallowed. He had been too distraught, too numb, to do anything but sit by the morgue in the hospital, day and night, until they forced him to go home. He heard they caught the son of a bitch and went to see his interrogation, but after that he'd been filled with such murderous rage that he kept well away from the trial, allowing Shane to feed him reports on what was happening. He showed up once to testify, and ask for the death penalty, and that was it. When it was over, Rick started quietly going crazy.

"Just think about it, alright? It's the same M.O. Violent. Public. The car, the shot pattern. Right when you were _getting close_. The timing doesn't add up, that's all I'm saying."

He couldn't process this. He couldn't make his mind go there. Not now. No, he needed to focus. If he let his mind go there, he wouldn't make it out of the truck, let alone where he needed to go today. He wouldn't be able to do what he needed to do. If Black was responsible for...for that, too...Rick was gonna kill him. No turning him over to the Feds. Black was gonna die.

Rick had to find him first. He couldn't do that if he let his mind go to the places Tobin was trying to take it. After a moment of shocked silence, Rick shook his head at no one. "I...gotta go. Thanks for the tip."

"I hope this helps you get where you need to go. You got a lot to do, Rick," Tobin said with understanding, unwilling to push any further, before adding: "Michonne again, hang on."

"Rick?" Her voice was soft, sweet, concerned. "Come back soon, okay?"

He forced himself to speak to her in a calm, reassuring voice, pushing down the rage and anguish threatening to engulf him. "As soon as I can, I promise. Stick close to Tobin, and maybe call Carol. I gotta work, but she might have an update. She called."

"She called you? Why you?"

"She thinks I work for her, remember?"

"I'll call her," Michonne sounded somewhat like a different person before she added softly: "I...I miss you. Is that weird to say?"

Rick sat in his truck, wishing he could touch her. Hold her. Kiss her. Inhale her scent. Watch those cunning eyes of hers glint with lust. Everything shitty and bleak in his world seemed to disappear when he was with her. He needed her. Soon.

"I miss you, too. I'm gonna show you how much when I get back."

"You better. And be careful."

"Thank you. I'm glad I got you on my side this time."

"Me, too."

He wanted to tell her he loved her, but now wasn't the time. Now he had to venture into the darkness. He would save his confession for when he could see her face again. When he could really show her. Take her and Andre away. Rid them of Negan Wolfe, somehow.

So he just whispered: " _I'm comin' back_ , Michonne."

"I know you are. We're too good together, Rick Grimes."

He felt her words move through his soul. He believed her. After a long pause in which he could almost hear the words they both weren't saying, she wished him luck and hung up.

Rick stuck his phone in his back pocket and got out of his truck, heading across the small lot toward the manager's office of the Starlight.

* * *

Rick checked into the same room Tracy Meyers had occupied for three months before she took off.

He paid for two nights with lots of extra cash piled on top. For the hefty bonus he was rewarded with a box of the personal things Tracy had left behind.

The manager said she was a nice, if solitary woman. She paid for weeks in advance, all in cash. Spent her nights out and her days either sleeping or keeping to herself in her room. She didn't engage much except to get fresh towels or to put down a payment for a few more weeks.

It was as though she never intended to live this life for long. Poised for flight at any moment. Whether she left voluntarily or not was still to be determined.

The manager said she worked at the strip club up the highway, the Crazy Horse. Rick planned to go there once he settled in and rifled through her leftover things.

He dumped the box out onto the shabby bedspread, lighting a cigarette and popping two Tylenol to rid himself of his stubborn headache.

For a split second, he looked up and thought he saw Lori standing in the bathroom doorway, but he ignored her. _No. No, no, no. Not now, baby, please._ She disappeared and Rick refocused.

He found a couple of skimpy dresses. Some strappy, slinky outfits that did indeed look like they belonged on a stage or against a pole. An expired bus card. A couple of pairs of heels. Some very dry weed hidden inside a pill bottle in an empty purse. A thin stack of postcards. Matchbooks from the Crazy Horse. A photo of Tracy that was torn in half.

Rick sat down in the stale-smelling armchair by the window, examining the photo while he smoked and waited for the Tylenol to kick in. He refused to send his eyes anywhere else in the room, lest he see another ghost.

Tracy was smiling happily, like she was in the middle of a big laugh. It looked like she was outside, sitting on a porch. He could see the sky and trees in the reflection of a window behind her.

Someone's arm was wrapped around her. That person was missing from the photo, occupying the part of it that had been torn away. It looked like a man's arm. Whoever he was, he was wearing a flannel shirt; pale blue with some light purple and navy thrown in. It was a fairly common pattern, but to Rick it looked familiar for a different reason. He had never seen Black wearing one like it, but still...his mind jumped as though trying to recall something familiar when he looked at that flannel pattern.

"Who the fuck are _you…_?" He muttered to the photo, staring at the arm around Tracy.

She looked happy, though pretty young, a bit pale, and somewhat underweight. He flipped the photo over and saw by the tiny orange stamp at the bottom right corner that it had been taken a few summers ago. A couple of months before Black beat her within an inch of her life in the passenger seat of Novak's truck.

Rick tucked the photo into his inner jacket pocket and picked up the small stack of postcards.

They were all from different Georgia state parks, including one near here, Redwood Falls. They all featured the same handwriting and pretty much stuck to the same theme in the messaging. He flipped one over and read it:

 _ **I miss you.**_

Then another:

 _ **Please, please just see me.**_

And a couple more:

 _ **If I can't see you, I'll die, you hear me?**_

 _ **I can be good for you. WE can be good TOGETHER, baby.**_

And more like that.

The last one was the only one that was a bit different to the rest of the bunch. Rick reread it a few times, totally perplexed and disturbed by it.

 _ **The Master doesn't want me anymore.**_

 _ **You're all I got left, baby.**_

 _ **Don't let me die. Please.**_

"The Master..." Rick got such a feeling of coldness as he muttered those two words that he could only just sit there staring at the scrawled, desperate handwriting. Who was _The Master_ , and who was writing all these stalkery postcards? He got an idea about the latter.

To be sure, he got up and fetched the envelope with the evidence Shane had given him.

That handwriting, though a bit manic in its execution, looked like the arrogant spawlings of Simon Black. Rick had seen that prick's signature on many pieces of paperwork when they worked together. He pulled out the report they'd buried of the Meyers incident and found the copy of the signed confession Black had written. He compared it to the last postcard, side-by-side.

It was Simon's handwriting, alright. So he had continued stalking her long after he beat her. Is that why she left in such a rush? Or had he come to collect her?

"What did you do to this girl, asshole?"

 _What did you do to my_ _ **wife and child?**_

 _No._

Rick grabbed the stack of postcards, anxious to get out of the motel room. He stuffed the rest of Tracy's things back into the box he'd been given and put out his cigarette. He carried the box out to his truck and tossed it in the trunk, then climbed behind the wheel and deposited the postcards into the glove compartment.

He started her up and headed to the Crazy Horse strip club.

* * *

The Crazy Horse wouldn't be open until the evening, but some of the staff was there cleaning and practicing for their stage routines later that night.

This manager was less inclined to talk. Rick had the aura of an undercover cop and he knew all too well the sorts of barely-legal dealings lots of places like this engaged in. The guy was a greasy asshole, refusing to even confirm that Tracy had worked there at first.

So Rick dragged him out into the back alley by his greasy hair and pistol whipped him until he begged for it to stop.

He knew he shouldn't, but he needed release, and this prick's attitude glanced across a hair trigger that Tobin had set with his theory about Lori and Carl.

Blood staining his teeth, his jaw and eye starting to swell up, Mick the manager mumbled that Tracy took off with a fellow stripper they called Little Darling. Her real name was Grace Kim and she had stopped coming in to work around the same time as Tracy.

Rick left Mick out in the alley sniffling like a child to confirm his story with some of the strippers who happened to be there practicing on stage. "Oh yeah, Tracy and Darling got along like two peas in a pod," one of them confided, standing a bit too close. "They danced together a lot. I ain't no lesbian, but I always got the feelin' those bitches would rather be scissoring each other in the back sometimes, you know what I mean, sexy?" She shrugged. "When they took off I just figured they finally decided to go for it."

Rick peeled himself away from her steadily advancing proximity and spoke with a couple of the other girls. They both agreed it looked like Tracy and Grace were closer than friends. He showed them the photo of Tracy on the porch. None of them had seen a man in a shirt like that at the club, nor had they ever seen a man who looked like the mug shot he showed them of Simon Black.

He felt like he was back at square one. Then he got the idea to track down Grace Kim's family.

The dancer with a crush told him that her mother lived only a couple of miles from the club. Grace had still been living at home, though she pretended she was going to community college night classes to hide that she was a stripper.

Rick headed there immediately, ignoring Mick's threat to press charges for his broken nose.

He was prepared for it to be difficult to get Grace's mother Mrs. Kim to trust him. But he turned on the charm and pretended to be a reporter interested in the stories of missing girls in the area.

He could tell right away that Mrs. Kim believed her daughter had met with foul play. The local authorities had basically ignored her pleas to treat Grace's disappearance as anything other than a lesbian stipper in love, running away from her strict, overbearing parents.

"She said she go to a big party," Mrs. Kim explained with glistening eyes, tears imminent. She swallowed and shook her head while pouring Rick some steaming tea. "She never come home. That's not like my Grace. I know we fight, but…" Mrs. Kim sighed and sat down wearily, stroking her lace tablecloth while Rick gingerly sipped his tea, "she always come home. We always work it out, no matter what. Now, there's nothing. She doesn't write, she doesn't call, she just...vanish."

Rick put his tea down and showed Mrs. Kim the picture of Tracy. She identified Tracy as someone she'd seen Grace with. Her demeanor was that of heavy disapproval. "Where was this party she was goin' to?"

"Big, big party, Grace says," the distraught woman mumbled. "Out by the falls. All her friends there, she says. That Tracy girl, too. But they never come back..."

Rick watched the woman wringing her hands, understanding her worry and despair. He reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm gonna find out what happened to her. You have my word. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Kim."

Leaving the Kim house, Rick got back into his truck and headed for Redwood Falls.


	22. the hunt, part ii

**WARNING: Violence. Death. Implied abuse. Potentially triggering.**

 **Also, Redwood Falls is a made up place, much like King County**.

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of..._

' _Cruise Control', Symmetry_

* * *

Rick's mind was focused on one mission as he drove out to the Redwood Falls, where Grace and Tracy were supposedly going to a party.

Mrs. Kim said the area had been searched, but he guessed not thoroughly. Especially not if the authorities believed she was merely an adult runaway.

The afternoon had come and gone and the sky was starting to grow pale as the sun prepared to set.

He listened to Michonne's radio station, his blue eyes staring out at the road, the forest, and the gorgeous, low mountains passing him by.

He remembered the manhunt they'd conducted for those missing girls. Miles and miles of forestland out in the sticks, with nothing to show for it. Simon liked to hunt. He liked guns. He knew those woods, knew the greenlands of Georgia like the back of his hand. It was what convinced everyone that he knew what he was doing; that they would never find anything, because Simon Black concluded there was nothing to find but dead girls. If the critters didn't get them, the exposure would decompose them.

But Rick saw everything anew, now. In truth, yes, the sticks were the perfect hunting and dumping ground. No one to hear or see a thing for miles. Covering ground was harder than it looked, unless you knew what you were doing.

Simon knew what he was doing.

So who was 'The Master'?

The Benefactor, more like. Had to be, especially the way that postcard was worded. Was it Novak? Rick had a hard time believing a small town, wackadoo plastic surgeon had the power to silence an entire sheriff's department. Maybe to be of use here and there, but not pulling the puppet strings. Whoever this Master was, it sounded as though they had been close; even codependent. Up until recently.

The more he drove, the more Rick felt a heavy, foreboding feeling that he was drawing closer and closer to a bloody, horrible conclusion. He just hoped he could find Amy before he reached it.

Camping wasn't allowed in Redwood Falls, but there were some historical dwellings scattered about in some of the thickest parts of the forestlands out here. Some of them erected before the Civil War. They were supposedly uninhabitable, more like tombs for tourists to stumble upon if they ever found themselves wondering around in here. Some so deep inside that anyone who didn't know what they were doing was likely to get lost trying to find them, maybe for good.

He had a hunch that Tracy and Grace had disappeared into one of them. Deep inside.

Rick drove as far as he could, and then he found himself parking on the edge of the beaten path.

He put on his brown corduroy jacket with the shearling collar. With the sun going down, he would need it. Armed with his gun, a compass, a flashlight, and matches from Tracy's motel room, he started to trek on foot. He knew that his cell phone would lose connection the deeper he went into the maze of trees (he was already down to a single bar), so he left it behind in his glove compartment.

He didn't know what he would find, if anything, but he had to try.

He didn't know if he would be able to keep his promise to return to Michonne soon, but he couldn't turn back now.

He started hiking, leaving his Bronco further and further behind him until the surrounding trees swallowed it from view.

He just had this _feeling_.

Tracy was with Simon somewhere in these woods. So was Grace.

Simon was on his own, now. Potentially trying to pick up where he left off without someone powerful backing him up. That made his mistakes easier to track.

Shane must have suspected they were all connected, too. Did he suspect Black was involved with Lori and Carl's deaths? Is that why he didn't want Rick to keep digging into this case? Rick put Shane out of his mind, lest he decided to give in to how much he wanted to beat him until he was unrecognizable for what he'd done.

 _You mean what_ _ **you**_ _did, if Tobin is right._

 _No. Tobin's not right. Dwight Warren killed them._

 _But what if he worked for Black? For this Master?_

 _That means it's your fault as much as Shane's._

 _They were caught in the crossfire because_ _ **you**_ _were gettin' too close._

 _She had an affair with your best friend, but_ _ **you**_ _got her killed. You got_ _ **Carl**_ _killed._

 _ **No.**_ _Don't think about it, now. You need to keep moving._

 _Focus on not dyin' in these woods, Grimes. You made Michonne a promise._

 _If Tobin is right-_

 _He can't be right. He can't be._

 _ **If he is right...**_ _you know what you gotta do._

 _When you find out who they are, you'll kill 'em all. So focus._ _ **Now.**_

Rick walked, looking for any abnormal tracks wherever he tred, until the sun sank beneath the treetops and everything went dark. He turned on his flashlight and kept moving, his determination taking on a life of its own. His gut pulling him further and further into the void of forestland.

Until finally, just east of where he could faintly hear the falls, he found them. Tire tracks. This wasn't a road he was on - more like a worn over path, forced into existence by constant activity it hadn't asked for. Recent activity. The tracks were fresh, maybe a couple of days old. They seemed to have been replicated many times over, however, in the last few weeks even.

He used his flashlight to see how far they went. They made a sharp turn half a yard away into more tall trees, where they disappeared.

Rick zipped up his jacket for the sudden chill and kept moving in the direction of the turn.

He followed the tire tracks (which he identified as belonging to some sort of large vehicle, capable of rolling through brush like this with no problem) until he came to a large mound of foliage sitting oddly in the middle of the makeshift path.

The pile of branches and brush was huge, floating in the middle of the forest like an optical illusion. Rick approached it carefully, shining his light all around him to make sure he was alone.

He got close to it and picked up one of the large branches, tossing it aside into the dirt.

The first thing he saw was the back bumper of a black truck that was missing its plates.

His heart pounding, he pulled more forest brush off of the thing, revealing a large utility truck, pretty damn close to the one he'd seen in that blurry ass traffic camera shot. The only thing was that this one's cab wasn't covered. Rick shined his light inside it, finding no signs of anything other than a water bottle and dirty blanket balled up in the back of the cab.

He shined the flashlight against the forest floor surrounding it. He saw his own boot tracks approaching the back of it. His light zipped in another direction. There they were. More tracks, not made by him, heading in the opposite direction from where he'd approached.

He had found the son of a bitch. Simon. He was sure of it.

Getting a good sense of the direction the tracks were headed, Rick followed it for a bit before turning off his flashlight and continuing by the light of the stars over his head.

* * *

Rick crouched low in the trees, watching.

He came upon it after hiking for almost an hour, tracking the disturbances in the foliage here.

A small cabin, practically invisible until you walked right up on it. It looked dark inside, but for a faint light in one of the front rooms.

There was freshly chopped firewood stacked up outside on the narrow porch.

It was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

He pulled his gun, watching, waiting. He wanted to approach the place, see if he could break in, but something stopped him. The hairs on his neck and arms stood on end. The chill in the air felt heavy; ominous. As he was approaching the place, he felt like he wasn't alone. Like _he_ was the one being tracked; watched. So he hunched down low and kept as still and silent as he could, his keen blue eyes raking over the deep forestland surrounding the cabin for any signs of movement.

The longer he crouched there, the more intense the feeling got. He saw no one; heard nothing. But there was someone there. Either watching him from inside the cabin behind those dark windows, or somewhere out here with him.

Then he heard the sound of a shotgun forearm being pumped in the distance behind him. _Fuck._

Rick ducked out of the way a second before a hole appeared in the tree he was crouching next to, chunks of bark flying everywhere. He'd almost had his head blown off, but there was no time to do anything other than dive into the dirt. Rick twisted around onto his back, aimed and fired off a couple of shots.

Whoever it was took off into the woods, but not before Rick tagged him, slowing him down.

Grimes got to his feet and ran after the dark figure.

The trees played hide and seek with the tall, shadowy apparition of a man as Rick chased it. He tried to stop and aim but couldn't get a clean shot. The figure disappeared. Rick stopped again, keep his eyes peeled in the semi dark. Another shotgun round went off, narrowly missing his head again, splintering the tree near him into a hailstorm of wood chips. Then the figure reappeared again to his left, stumbling between the trees, and Rick ran after it. He wasn't going to catch up. The assailant was using the darkness and the trees as a cloaking device.

Rick dropped to his knees and aimed, listening, his eyes closed. He heard movement to his right, turned sharply in that direction, and fired.

"Ah!" He heard the unmistakable voice of Simon Black crying out from another wound, then the sound of six feet of dead weight crashing into the brush.

Rick got up and ran toward the sounds, scaling the foliage for quite a few paces until he finally came upon the bastard. Black was writhing around in the dirt on his stomach, trying and failing to reach the shotgun he'd dropped when Rick shot him.

" _Don't you fuckin'_ _ **move**_ ," Grimes snarled, stalking up to him with his Python aimed. He kicked the shotgun away and then kicked Black over onto his back, towering over him. He aimed the pistol at Black's skull, boiling with determination to blow the motherfucker's brains out at point blank range if he so much as breathed the wrong way. "Where is Tracy Meyers? Grace Kim? Amy Jones?"

Black was bleeding profusely. Rick had shot him in the arm and back. The latter had probably hit a vital organ, as it looked like he was going to bleed out soon. He laughed weakly, gurgling. He looked ten times older than the last time they'd seen each other, his hair wiry and greying, his skin ashen, his eyes lit up with something insane. He wasn't all there, _that_ Rick could tell even in the dark.

"Well, goddaaamn…Rick Grimes," Black laughed through the blood in his mouth, "It's...it's been a while, huh? T-thought...you were in a nuthouse..."

"Fuck you. You got 'em inside that cabin? They still alive? _Answer me_ , goddamnit."

"You can't take 'em away from me."

"Oh I can, and I will. But you? You're gonna die right here in the dirt if you don't tell me, _now_."

"No!" The caught kidnapper raged, reaching weakly for his shotgun, but Rick kicked him in the face for his trouble. Simon started to gurgle up more blood, squirming stiffly as he began to succumb to his wounds. "I _need_ them! I-I need…!"

"You need _what?_ " Rick growled, disgusted, "to jack off? Huh? You pathetic piece of shit!"

" _You don't understand, I need them for The Master!_ " Black wailed, choking and crying, blood seeping from his wounds rapidly, pooling in the dirt. "I need him to forgive meee-hee-heee!"

Rick wanted to fill him with bullets until the hammer on his Colt clicked. He just stood there, however, watching the pathetic display with cold anger churning through him. "There is no forgiveness for scum like you. So tell me," he tilted his head at the dying monster, "who were you workin' with? Who's your Master, Black?"

Simon slowly stopped blubbering, his movements becoming more and more subdued. Rick could see that his life was steadily draining out onto the forest floor. The sicko smiled weakly.

" _Who is he…?_ " Rick tried again. "Say it!"

"You m-might be right, Grimes...for once...The M-Master...he's never gonna forgive...he sent you...he ssssent you, didn't he?" Rick frowned, taken slightly aback. Simon stared up at him, tears glimmering in his dilated pupils, "mmm...you shouldn't have come. You can't sss...st...stop him. He's too...powerful...always a sssstep ahead...you think you're cra...crazy, now?" His smile was wide, insane, and infuriating. "Wait 'til you sss-see...what's in the cabin, Grimes." He coughed up more blood. "Just...just kill me...go ahead."

Rick didn't need to waste his bullets. It was over. "You're already dead."

Black gave a wheezy shudder and the light went out in his eyes.

Rick cursed, clenching his jaw fit to break his teeth, and knelt next to the body to get a hold of the adrenaline pumping through him. After a long while of nothing but the wind swaying through the trees, Rick grabbed the shotgun and stood up. He left Black's dead body where it fell, stalking carefully back the way they came, toward the cabin.

That faint light was still on. There was still no movement inside.

His pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, the shotgun raised and aimed wherever his eyes turned, Rick slowly, vigilantly approached the cabin. He made it to the back door, having been turned around in his fight with Black. He got it open easily, letting it swing silently to the wall. Rick cautiously entered the cabin.

"Tracy?" He whispered, unnerved by the silence. "Grace?"

No answer. He moved through the back hall, turning this way and that, shotgun aimed. There was a bedroom, where the light was coming from a floor lamp. The bed was unmade, clothes thrown about haphazardly. There was no mistaking the fact that Simon occupied this room with someone; a woman. A chill moving up his spine, Rick moved on. He checked the small bathroom. No one. There was another door by the kitchen that was locked; he didn't think it was a closet. He needed to find the key.

When he entered the tiny living room, it was cast in shadow, but he could just make out a petite figure sitting in a recliner by a shitty little television set. Rick stood in the space between the kitchen and the living room, watching as the figure reached over and turned on another lamp next to the chair.

It was Tracy Meyers.

She looked like she had been sobbing. She was holding a handgun, aimed at Rick. Her lip trembled, her eyes somewhat bloodshot. She looked even more pale and rail thin than the photo he had taken from her motel room.

"Tracy...I'm not gonna hurt you." Rick took a deep breath and slowly lowered the shotgun, relaxing his stance. His eyes darted from hers to the gun she had trained on his chest. "I'm here to get you away from here. Away from _him_."

"Who are you?" She didn't look like she was all there, either.

"I'm Rick Grimes. I'm...I'm a cop."

The distraught woman sucked in a breath and aimed the gun at his head. Rick let the shotgun rest on the shabby carpet and raised his hands in surrender. " _Ex_ cop. Hey, hey, take it easy. _Easy_..."

Her hands were shaking. But she aimed true.

"I'm lookin' for someone. Okay? A missing girl. Grace Kim. Do you know where she is? Is she here?" Rick noticed her eyes darting behind him, to the locked door next to the kitchen.

"Where's Simon?"

"Listen, Simon Black isn't gonna hurt you anymore, alright? You're safe, now."

"You killed him. _DIDN'T YOU!_ " She suddenly seemed very angry, and more grief-stricken than he liked. Yes, she was more than a victim. Something foul was going on here. Rick could smell it. He didn't answer. He merely watched and waited. She started to sob again, her aim still shaky but still true enough for him not to move from his spot, lest she blow a hole in his chest. "He...he...he made me do it. _Oh my god_ , he made me do such horrible things! I just...I just...I just wanted to be with him, and he made me...he maaaade meee!"

Rick swallowed hard and began to take slow, measured steps toward her. "I know. It's gonna be okay. You're right, he is dead. He can't make you do anything anymore…please, Tracy, just let me help you. I'm here to _help_ , I swear."

Tracy caught on to what he was doing and aimed the gun again, this time underneath her own chin. Rick stopped in his tracks. "You can't help me."

"Tracy, please, _don't-!_ "

Tracy shot herself. Rick watched, horrified, as her brains splattered all over the wall and television set. Her frail body slumped over in the chair, her arm dropping into her lap with the gun still in her lifeless hand. He just stood there. Shockwaves ricocheted through him. He felt like he would leave his body for a moment before he wrestled down the agony of what he'd just witnessed and grounded himself again.

He crouched next to her, reaching out a shaking hand, and stroked her stringy blonde hair. "I'm sorry."

Then he stood, turned to close the distance, and kicked in the door next to the kitchen.

He was determined to save _one_ life tonight.

 _Please, god, let her be alive._

Rick pulled his Colt from his jeans and took the stairs behind the door down to a basement. It reeked of sex, mildew, and other body odors down here. It was enough to turn his stomach.

There was a lone overheard bulb casting harsh white light around the cramped space.

Rick made it down the stairs, where he saw a threadbare twin bed covered in maroon, silky sheets.

In front of it, there was a camera set up on a tripod.

Next to it was a girl chained by the wrists to a bolt in the brick wall, slumped over, her matted black hair hanging in her face. Rick rushed over to her, realizing that she hadn't bathed in days, probably. Everything she wore was soiled. He gently turned her over, and saw that she had been drugged. Her head lolled against his arm, her eyes barely able to open enough to look at him. Her mouth was dry, her skin ashen. It was Grace Kim.

"Help me…" she whispered weakly.

"Shh...shhh...it's okay. You're okay. I'm takin' you outta here."

Rick gently lay her on her back and went searching for something to fill with water. There was a dirty sink in the corner, along with a toilet. Rick grabbed a fast food cup sitting on a wooden utility desk, dumped its contents, and filled it with tap water. He rushed it over to Grace, his heart pounding with relief to have found her alive. She almost choked, but he managed to get most of the water in her before laying her back again so he could fetch something to free her from the chains.

He stopped in front of the desk again, knocking shit this way and that to look for a key. Needles. Gauze. Empty medical bottles labeled (God bless Michonne's keen eye) 'sistal'. Crude sketches of naked women. Beer cans. Bullets. Gun parts. No keys.

It was probably hidden in the clothes of one of the dead bodies upstairs. Rick was turning to reassure Grace he'd be back in a moment when something caught his eye, stopping him cold.

The desk was propped against a wall that was covered in photos, maps of Georgia, postcards and handwritten notes. It was the photos that gave him pause. It was the _photos_ that made his heart sink down into his boots; caused the room to spin and sweat to sprout at his hairline.

At first, he noticed the photos of a few of the girls who'd been taken. Naomi. Kate. Rosita. Tara. Some other girls in photos that looked much other, about a decade give or take.

They were either unconscious or engaging in obscene acts with male body parts against their will, the harsh light of the flash from the camera making them look morbid in their composition. None were of Amy. Maybe because Simon had been cast out of The Master's good graces by the time she was taken.

There were photos from the local paper, in which Rick was featured along with the new crop of guys on the force, the year they'd all been sworn in, including Shane and Simon. Rick stared at them, uncomprehending at first, until he realized what he was looking at. The eyes of some of the deputies had been filled with red ink. There were red devil horns painted on some of their heads.

Simon's. Shane's. The sheriff's. And three more; guys Rick had worked with for years. But not Rick himself, or the rest of the guys.

 _I think you're lookin' for a whole pack of wolves, here..._ Tobin had said.

Rick swallowed a thick swell of bile as his mind processed all of this. The were other newspaper clippings about the case; the manhunt; the dwindling leads; the outrage, fear, and unrest of their small community. The faces of the missing girls covered another clipping, their social media or I.D. photos. _Their_ eyes were crossed out in angry black ink. It was grotesque.

Rick's vision kept moving along the wall (or _shrine_ , more like). He saw photos of Tracy and Simon, looking happier. Looking like a couple. Most of them were clearly taken outdoors, in the woods, but not the falls. The trees were different. They looked familiar. Definitely Georgia. And then more like the one he'd found in her motel room. These were whole.

The arm in the flannel shirt did not belong to Simon. It belonged to Dwight Warren.

It was the same shirt he'd been wearing in a mug shot from the wrap sheet they dug up on him when they caught him.

He was sitting there, on that porch with Tracy, wearing that flannel shirt, his arm around her. _They knew each other._ They were smiling and smoking and drinking together. The room began to spin harder, coming close to giving him vertigo. But Rick looked closer, and he realized that in the reflection of the window behind them, there was also a wind chime. He hadn't noticed it before, but it showed up clearer in these photos.

That's why the trees in these photos looked different from the ones outside. These were taken near King County.

That wind chime was the same wind chime that Shane had on the back porch of his father's cabin.

Lori had given it to Shane. Lori had made several of them in a class she took because she was bored. Many of their friends had one.

Rick felt like he would be sick. His eyes swept upward and around again as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. And he heard her voice.

 _Rick...I've got somethin' to tell you. Please, you have to listen to me._

He shook his head, but he couldn't push this away. Not this time. It was like she was in the room with him, whispering urgently in his ear. And behind her, trapped in the backseat of Rick's mind, mute and yet deafening, Carl.

 _You already know what it is, Rick. You always knew. Look closer. Look again, baby._

He stared at the photos of the miserable, kidnapped girls. The ones of them unconcious. In one of them, a strong arm was holding a drugged Rosita's head up by the neck for the photo. She was naked, but it wasn't her nakedness that made him feel like his legs would give out. It was the tattoo on the arm holding her upright. Just the last word was visible, but he had seen that tattoo a million times since Shane got it their senior year of high school.

The Beast.

Lori was there, in his ear, in his mind, and Rick staggered back. The maps, the photos, they blurred together, and that tattoo glared down at him.

 _I've got somethin' to tell you. It wasn't just the affair. It was_ _ **him**_ _. The Beast. He got us, baby._

"No..." Rick was on his knees, now, hot tears stinging his face, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. He knew. All this time, it was in the back of his mind. She had been out there at the cabin. She said it was important. She said it was going to sound crazy. She found something she wasn't supposed to find. Shane was first on the scene, not simply because he was close, but because _he_ had killed Rick's family. His best fucking friend. A huge, rushing tide of grief subsumed him. Jagged, brutal anguish knocked into him as this realization finally manifested itself with horrible, vivid certainty. "No, no, _LORI! CAARRL!_ No, oh god, oh god, no…!"

And his late wife's ghost wailed with him, still in his head, in this dank basement, pleading for retribution.

 _You_ _ **knew**_ _, Rick, but you couldn't face it._

 _You wouldn't let me tell you. But now you have to._

 _He killed us. He killed_ _ **them**_ _. He's gonna kill again. You have to stop him._

 _Get up, Rick._ _ **Now!**_

Rick sat on his haunches, dry heaves slamming into him as he fought off a wave of nausea. His tears stopped, but they lingered, dripping from his eyes onto the musty basement floor. Finally, swallowing hard, he got himself to his feet.

A red veil fell across his vision, and he lurched forward, pulling everything down from the wall with silent rage. He turned, his red eyes sweeping the room, until he spotted a wooden crate full of sex toys. Rick dumped the sex toys out onto the concrete floor and swept every photo, map, postcard and note into the box before setting it on the table.

He took the basement stairs two at a time and crossed the living room. He didn't look at Tracy's bloody face as he stuck his hands in her jeans pockets and felt around until he found a set of keys. He pilfered them from her corpse and headed back downstairs, knelt by Grace (barely conscious but aware of his presence), and unchained her from the bolt in the wall near the bed.

Rick carefully picked her up, sauntered over to the table, and picked up the box too. He maneuvered carefully, tears staining his cheeks and dewing his lashes, as he carried her and the box upstairs. She shuddered at the sight of Tracy, but said nothing as he sat her down on the couch and went out onto the front porch.

He shined his flashlight around by the stack of firewood until he found what he needed - lighter fluid.

Rick worked as quickly as he could, rage boiling through his veins, as Grace sat mutely on the shabby couch drifting in and out of consciousness.

He dragged Simon Black back to the cabin. Gathered up Tracy Meyers. Wrapped them both up in a tarp he found and placed them side-by-side in the basement. Then he doused the room in lighter fluid, struck a match from his Crazy Horse matchbook, and tossed it onto the wooden desk. The desk caught in an instant and began to spread down toward the bed, headed for their bodies, and eventually the rest of the cabin.

He wrapped Grace in the cleanest blanket he could find upstairs, the smoke already headed for them, picked her up, grabbed the box of evidence, and carried her out into the woods.

He didn't look back at the dancing orange and red lights of the fire he set.

Grace's tiny hands clung to the shearling collar of his jacket as he made his way back to his truck with her and the box in his arms.

* * *

Rick could see the smoke starting to rise above the trees as he finally made it back to his Bronco.

It wouldn't be long before the authorities would come looking. Or a chunk of the forest would burn down. Didn't make him much difference.

He'd been running on pure adrenaline, and his arms were tired, but he carefully lay Grace down in his back seat without a word. She refused to let go of his jacket at first. He had to gently pry her small fingers from the soft shearling. "You're safe now," he whispered to her, still enraged but able to keep it contained for now, "you're goin' home, Grace. Your mother is waitin' for you. No one's gonna hurt you anymore, alright?"

She didn't answer. She just cried silently, finally letting him go. He understood, and truthfully he wanted to be in her place. Curled up in a ball in the dark. But he still had to find Amy.

He still had to kill Shane.

His anger was as molten as lava, but as sharp and deadly as a butcher knife.

Rick put the box with the stuff he took from that disgusting basement in his trunk next to Tracy's things and got into his driver's seat. The first thing he reached for as he started up the engine was his cellphone in the glove compartment.

He had new voicemails.

The same one from Carol.

One from Glenn.

And one from an unknown number.

He listened to that one first as he drove out onto a series of back roads to avoid being seen, following them back toward Clayton to drop off Grace.

As soon as he heard the voice on the other end, the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. The red veil fell across his vision. Panic, fear, and murderous rage mingled until they reached a boiling point inside him.

It was Shane.

"Hey, Rick. Sorry I didn't call sooner. I know how you get when you're workin', though. I hope you found everythin' you were lookin' for…"

Shane laughed softly in Rick's ear. He didn't sound like himself. He sounded disappointed. He sounded like he was worlds away instead of miles.

"I _know_ you did. I know _you_. I could see it in your eyes at the diner, man. And that means you're comin' for _me_ , now. It means one of us has to die. Right? Well...come on, then. I'll be waitin'. In the meantime, I've been checkin' your place out. And your neighbor? _Mmmm, Michonne._ "

Rick's gut turned to stone as he listened to the voicemail. Without realizing it, he pushed his foot down on the gas and was practically flying down the dusty back road, seeing red, the feeling of dread steadily rising inside him.

"She is _really_ somethin'. The Master's gonna love her. I can see why _you_ do. I been watchin' her from your window. You ever notice you can see right through her house? But this feels too far, too cold, informal-like. I might hafta go say hello while I wait. See you soon, brother. Partner. _Friend._ "

Dial tone.

* * *

 **You know what's coming next.**

 **This will not be slowing down, so brace yourselves.**


	23. the watcher

_we've been here before, don't fear me_

 _don't stand by the door, come near me_

\- 'Come Near Me', Massive Attack (ft. Ghostpoet)

* * *

" _This is Rick Grimes. Leave a message."_

" _Shit! Grimes, I need a favor. I need you to get Michonne out of Atlanta. Don't tell_ _ **anyone**_ _where, not even my men. Just make it somewhere no one would ever think to look. Toss your phone. She's got others. I'll be in touch when I can."_

" _Yo, where the fuck are you? I think I got something. Did some networking, landed a huge client for some secret event this weekend. Pills, weed, coke, they cleaned me out. Word is_ _ **anything**_ _you want, they have a girl for. Orgies, auctions, they even_ _ **hunt**_ _them. They called it a 'plantation party' if you can fuckin' believe that. I think it actually_ _ **is**_ _a plantation, way out in the sticks somewhere. The host is some old money recluse and he's_ _ **loaded**_ _. Guess what they call him. The fuckin Master, dude. The guests are supposedly cops, politicians, oligarchs; a lot of really rich, powerful guys. They use creepy aliases, too. I'm gonna tail these guys and text a location if I find anything."_

" _Hey, Rick. Sorry I didn't call sooner. I know how you get when you're workin', though. I hope you found everythin' you were lookin' for. I_ _ **know**_ _you did. I know_ _ **you**_ _. I could see it in your eyes at the diner, man. And that means you're comin' for_ _ **me**_ _now. That means one of us has to die. Right? Well...come on, then. I'll be waitin'. I've been checkin' your place out. And your neighbor? Mmmm, Michonne. She is_ _ **really**_ _somethin'. The Master is gonna love her. I can see why_ _ **you**_ _do. I've been watchin' her from your window. You ever notice you can see right through her house? But this feels too far, too cold, too formal-like. I might hafta go say hello while I wait. See you soon, brother. Partner._ _**Friend.**_ "

* * *

As the sun went down, the Beast lay low in the shrubbery on the tree-covered hill behind the newborn suburb of Reece Park.

His black cap and the trees served as his shield from the sight of others.

He was in hunting mode; watching for the way in.

Chewing on a toothpick, The Beast raised his binoculars to his cold, distant eyes. He searched carefully through the thick foliage enclosing the area leading down to Michonne Williamson's yard.

He counted one...two...three...four cameras set up in the trees. Probably more in front. Lucky for him, these back ones pointed toward the house; only one outward. He scoffed. Her protectors expected trouble to come quickly; aggressively. Normally, they'd be right. But The Beast couldn't operate that way today.

The Master was counting on him not to lose his head this time.

Rick must've been seriously distracted by the premium pussy shacked up in this house. Leave it to the depressed former sheriff's deputy to fall for someone in this kind of danger. The man's savior kink had only gotten stronger in his isolation.

The Beast peered around some more. He noticed small devices affixed to the base and halfway mark of several more trees. The average naked eye wouldn't have caught them until they were right up on them. They could be cicada shells for all anyone would notice, but they weren't.

They created an invisible fence. Digital tripwire. Encasing the length of the yard and halfway up the hill. Rigged to set off some silent alarm somewhere with the motion carried by a certain weight and height. A racoon wouldn't do it, but a grown man or woman would. Alright, that was a little better.

After some long minutes more of watching, he finally found it - a blind spot.

Smirking to himself and the mosquitos, he rigged up his short range signal scrambler and crawled on his belly down the hill. He got close enough to attach it to a tree just out of reach of the cameras and invisible trips. He used these to listen in on a target's phone calls while he was watching. He could also block them if he wanted to. Courtesy of his Master's deep pockets and deeper connections. He spent some time on his belly, hidden, listening. The lady of the house made a few calls to the same people; first someone who sounded like family. There was tension there. Apparently she had a son, but the boy wasn't with her. He was with this Sabine woman. Good. He'd had enough of kids today.

He kept listening. Michonne called someone called Carol. No answer. This frustrated her even more.

Then the bodyguard spoke to someone he worked with; his partner who was out on some special reconnaissance mission. They were keeping her on lock down. No more communication in or out tonight. They were protecting her and her son from none other than Negan Wolfe. Goddamn. Interesting enemies this chick had. Oh yeah, Rick _was_ in deep. The way The Beast saw it, he was gonna do them both a favor tonight.

If the bodyguard inside was the one who set up this surveillance, he would make an easy target later. He was seasoned but soft. Distracted by her, too. The Beast couldn't wait to meet Michonne in person.

Time to prepare for tonight.

He moved his sights to the house next door, squinting through the binoculars. Rick's address.

Rick's house had 'depressed recluse' written all over it. Everything about it was dark. The yard was unkempt. The windows may as well be boarded up; didn't look like he allowed natural light inside from any angle. The Beast watched carefully. No one home. No cameras. No digital corral. One big blind spot. He'd go there first, keep watch, and wait. It wouldn't be too long, now. Rick had been on the trail they set up for him for a while, and it was moving on past sundown. The Beast would check the tracker he put on Rick's Bronco to make sure when he got over there.

But knowing Rick (and Simon), the disposal of their loosest ends was imminent.

Yes, he could be patient. Take his time. Wait Rick out. Shane was a weak coward, but _The Beast_ was taking over tonight. No more mistakes.

He gathered his gear and headed down to Rick's house, slowly, carefully, staying well within the blind spot so he wasn't detected. He went around the "tripwire", taking note of each transmitter's location so he could remember where to be once it was fully nightfall, when it was time to make his move.

He just needed to do something first. He needed to shed his Shane Walsh skin for good.

Whatever happened tonight, there would be no going back.

* * *

Michonne listened to Andre's burner phone ring.

She counted the seconds until she knew it was futile. He didn't pick up. Again.

Trying not to be too disappointed, she left a message. "Hey, peanut, it's me. I know you're probably exhausted. Or maybe you don't want to talk. I get it. I just...wanted to say I love you and I miss you."

She paced around the island in her kitchen, one arm folded over her stomach as music drifted in from the record player in the living room. Tobin had gotten into her father's old record collection and suggested they played some to tame her mounting nerves, but it wasn't working. Andre had been ignoring her calls all day. Sabine told her he was just in his feelings; confused, annoyed, angry. That he wasn't even talking to _her_ at the moment. He locked himself in his room and only came out to eat, Sabine said. "He's just in a funk, Michonne," she reported earlier that afternoon, "I think he just needs time, that's all."

Sabine was being uncharacteristically empathetic with her, which she appreciated, but Michonne felt like this was all her fault.

"I'm so sorry our summer plans turned into such a big mess. I _promise_ , this'll be over soon. Call me...okay? Please." She forced herself to hang up before her voice got too emotional.

To make things worse, Carol wasn't answering her calls, either. She only did that when she was hiding something. Michonne was becoming increasingly annoyed with being kept on house arrest with no information coming in.

She heard her downstairs toilet flushing and a few seconds later Tobin found her. He looked instantly aware of the firestorm going on in her mind.

"Still no answer, huh?"

"What the hell is going on out there?"

He sighed and closed the distance between them, leaning back against the island to fold his arms across his broad chest. "If I know Carol, there's a good reason."

Michonne wheeled around to glare at him, on the point of viciously losing her temper. He stood his ground.

"Wolfe's got eyes and ears _everywhere_. And we're onto him. Which means it's only a matter of time before he's onto _us_. You know that as well as I do, Michonne."

"I'm sick of being told to stay here, keep quiet, wait for Carol or one of you _goons_ to _stumble_ upon something we can use." She ignored his logic and kept pacing, staring bullets into her moving feet. "I just want him to _stop._ I want him...I want him..."

She wanted Negan dead. Eradicated from the earth. It was the only way she and Andre could be free. But of course, she couldn't tell Tobin that.

Tobin simply stood patiently, letting her rant, maintaining his quiet empathy. She paced, squeezing her phone to death, angry and trapped.

"Where's Aaron? Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"Listen," Tobin's smile was somewhat repentant, but not by much,"when things change, we'll know. You know how Carol operates. 'Small team, tight leash, trust no one…'" Michonne nodded lamely. She knew both Carol and Negan well. "I shouldn't even be in here, but you look like you could use the company."

Everyone was worried she'd take off, then. Of course. It wasn't just protection from him. It was protection from herself. Carol knew her too well.

Michonne visibly deflated, suddenly exhausted. It really hit her then, how much she missed Rick. His silent, confident intensity and the unwavering devotion in his beautiful eyes. His voice. The safety she found within his solid, sturdy embrace. His "alright" at her every whim. She wanted to call him, but she figured while he was working he needed to stay focused and probably couldn't stop to make her feel better. She wanted him to find what he was looking for and come back to her.

Tobin would have to do for now.

"Look, I'm sorry about calling you a goon. I'm just…"

"I get it," Tobin liked her, a lot. Shame he was only getting to know someone like her under these circumstances; being her babysitter. She was captivating, even when she was so rattled. She resembled a beautiful, trapped bird, "but orders are orders. Yours and Andre's safety are the priority. So we wait. And I'll stay right here."

Michonne took down her bun, running a hand through her locs. The release of pressure from around her scalp calmed her a bit. "What do you want for dinner? I need to do something to take my mind off all this waiting, or I'll scream."

The tall, older man reached out and gave her arms an encouraging squeeze. "Have you seen me? I'll eat anything."

He was relieved when she rewarded his self-deprecating joke with a weak huff of laughter.

* * *

The Beast walked through the semidarkness, coldly scrutinizing every room in Rick's house.

So, this was what had become of his former best friend's life.

Nearly empty, devoid of warmth or personal details. There were no pictures or any other signs of the life he once lived back in King County. The man he once was. There was nothing but a few items of nondescript furniture, an empty kitchen, the bare minimum of toiletries and clothes, and the blinds closed on every window, shutting out the world.

Upstairs, he found square shaped imprints in the dust on the bedroom closet floor. Boxes had been sitting here for months, but they were gone now. Hm. The Beast sucked his teeth, staring down at the empty spaces in the thin layer of dust. Now where would they have gone off to?

He stepped back, his eyes two shining onyx orbs in the gloom, and turned his head over to the window facing the pretty neighbor's house. He wondered…

Leaving the closet, he moved across the room and stood in front of the window. Opened the blinds just enough to see without being seen. Lo and behold, he could see right through her house. He raised his binoculars for a better look.

She was in her kitchen, cooking. Damn. Even from here, her could see it. She was fuckin' _beautiful_. He lingered on her, committing her every curve to his mind's eye. Yes...he would have fun with her. He forced himself to move on.

The bodyguard; big guy, gettin' on in years, balding up top, rounding out in the middle; was on a laptop at the dining table. Further in, covering the walls of the room beyond, were photos and loose pages filled with notes. He recognized those faces. Those were the case file copies Rick stole. The Beast smirked and stepped away from the window. He looked down, noticing the hardwood directly in front of it looked like it had seen more action than any other spot in the room. He squatted down, reached out a hand, feeling for himself...yeah. A man's weight had slightly warped the wood here. This was mileage.

They weren't so different at all.

The Beast unpacked his gear and checked the tracker he put on Rick's Bronco when he'd arrived at the diner that morning. He was in Redwood Falls. Another few hours and it would be time.

He took off his black cap. Ran a hand through his thick hair. Crossed into the hallway bathroom. Took a shower, cleansing himself of the dirt and grime from this morning's deeds. He found Rick's clippers and wiped down the mirror of steam. Stared at himself. Turned the clippers on. Shaved his head. Watched his old self disappear until there was nothing left but The Beast. Then he cleaned everything up.

When it was done, night had fallen. The dark permeated the space like a cocoon.

The Beast pulled out his phone, peeking through the blinds again. He called Rick, then The Master.

He loaded a syringe he planned to use when he gained entry. Shined and sheathed his knife. Pulled on his black cap again. Showtime. Big fella first. Then the woman. Then Rick.

* * *

Sasha seemed to be the only one picking up the phone tonight.

"He's really upset with me. Sabine says he won't even talk to her. I'm going stir crazy," Michonne complained to her while she cooked.

Tobin still had music playing while he did research on their super gun conundrum. It gave the house a pleasantly dreamy, escapist atmosphere. Howlin' Wolf, Son House, Etta James, Big Mama Thornton, Jessie Mae Hemphill, James Brown, Frankie, Beverly and Maze.

"'Chonne, I know you hate feeling boxed in, but _please_ don't do anything reckless."

"Why does everyone treat me like _I'm_ the crazy one?" Michonne hissed, preparing various ingredients for stir fry. She poured herself a huge glass of wine and started aggressively rinsing a bundle of green onions in the sink, trying let Etta's voice soothe her nerves a bit. "I don't like this. Carol _knows_ I don't like this."

"The woman is _working_ , Michonne. Working on getting you out of this mess."

"What about Andre? You think he'll stay mad at me forever? _Fuck_. This is going to ruin our relationship, isn't it?"

"Girl, you need to _chill_. Freaking out like this won't do you any good in your situation." Sasha warned, pausing to yell at her partner. "Where's your new boo?"

"He's out working a case. I helped a bit today, but my usefulness has run out," Michonne dolefully replied. "Now I'm just waiting."

She couldn't help glancing up at Rick's house at the mention of him. She paused, thinking she saw movement in his bedroom window; the one he used to watch her. But the blinds were closed all the way and there was nothing moving now that she was staring. It was always so dark over there, she could never really see anything anyway. Her nerves were getting to her. She drank more wine.

"Andre's just mad right now. He's a kid. He's allowed. The important thing is that he's _safe_. That's all that matters," Sasha was still trying to put her mind at ease. "Plus he's behind like a thousand layers of hacker security, right? Locked up tight. Probably about ready to push Auntie Dearest down some stairs by now."

" _Sasha!_ " Michonne finally laughed at her big sister's expense. She needed it. Sasha always knew just what to say, even if it was petty. "Don't say that! Sabine loves him to death."

"Smothers him to death, you mean." Sasha deadpanned, but continued more optimistically: "Which is why you shouldn't worry so much. She won't let anything happen to that boy. Not on _her_ watch."

Michonne sighed long and hard, nodding to no one, letting her best friend talk her down. "You're right, you're right. I just really miss him. It should be _me_ protecting him. _Me_ spending time with him, reassuring him. I want all this shit to be over."

"Me too. And it will be, 'Chonne. You trusted Carol once, trust her again."

They talked a little while before hanging up and Michonne stared at her regular phone for a long time, thinking. Finally, she gave in and tried to call Rick. It went straight to voicemail. She didn't leave one.

She didn't know what to say. _Come back. I miss you so much. I want you. I need you. Oh and I know I asked you to kill a man for me but if you could get that done like yesterday, I'll make it worth your while, cowboy._

No. Rick was a good guy. He was doing his job. The right thing. Maybe even putting himself in danger. Distracting him was not the best option. Michonne felt momentarily guilty for allowing the darkness inside her out to play with his while he was trying to heal from it. But she couldn't stop. Whatever happened between them next, Michonne knew she _wouldn't_ stop.

Tobin stood up from the table, sniffing the aroma in the kitchen appreciatively. "Mmm, is that stir fry I smell?"

Michonne was already plating their meal. "Yep. Let's eat."

* * *

" _Well?"_

" _I'm pretty sure it's done. He's on the move again."_

"' _Pretty sure' isn't satisfactory in the least, cowboy. Try again."_

" _I just gave him a little more motivation. Rick's comin'. I made sure of it."_

" _He'd better be. And what about her?"_

" _I'm watchin' her right now. She's stuck home. Can't leave. Easy pickin'."_

" _How is she?"_

" _You're really gonna like her, Master. Worship her, even. She puts the rest of 'em to shame."_

" _Well done. Now, don't think of all this as a punishment, son. Think of it as freedom."_

" _I know, Master. Thank you."_

" _That sentiment you were holdin' onto for Grimes did you no good. Made you weak. Made you sloppy."_

" _That was Walsh. That ain't me no more."_

" _Goooood. Steady, Beast of mine._ _ **Steady.**_ _Kill him dead and bring me my prize. Or you'll meet a fate much worse than your unhinged friend Black."_

" _Yes, Master."_

* * *

Tobin swallowed his last bite of food and leaned back in his seat at the dining room table, a look of utter satisfaction crossing his face. "Damn. That was the best damn home cooked stir fry I've ever had."

Michonne laughed, rolling her sparkling eyes at his exaggeration. "Oh please. It's a simple ass recipe," she winked flirtatiously, "and don't let your wife hear you talking like that about another woman's stir fry."

Tobin's smile softened a bit and he leaned forward again. "No, I mean it. And anyway my wife never made anything like this before she left me. Not much of a cook."

Michonne lost her smile. "Oh, Tobin, I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. We got married pretty young. Burned out quick. Didn't have it in me to settle down again."

Michonne looked off to nothing in particular, resting her chin on the back of her hand, her elbow propped on the table. Jessie Mae Hemphill serenaded them softly from the other room. "Yeah I know what you mean. You tell yourself you're lonely by choice. Taking a chance, risking yourself the same way you did before...too painful. Too much."

Tobin lowered his own square chin at her, studying her. "But you _did_. I know you feel something for Grimes, if you don't mind the observation. And he _definitely_ feels something for you. I can see it."

She looked over at him again, shrugging her elegant shoulders. "You don't think I'm taking too much of a risk?"

"I think the guy seems pretty crazy about you."

Michonne was now studying the deep plum liquid in her glass. "Sometimes...I go a little crazy for love."

She felt his hand on her arm. "Nothing wrong with that. It's what kept you alive. I've studied your file. Your love for your kid kept you strong enough to get away from that bastard."

Michonne scoffed. "Fat lot of good it did me, huh?"

"Well, if I know Carol, she's not gonna let him get away with terrorizing you like this. She's working on it."

They both leaned on the tabletop, the atmosphere between them becoming more and more comfortable. He reminded her, in some small ways, of her dad. She wondered if now was a good time to convince him to let her into the fold instead of treating her like a cagey informant who made delicious stir fry.

"What's she doing out there, Tobin?"

"You don't trust her."

Michonne took a deep breath. She remembered that night in Port Antonio. Their kiss. Their plan. Carol's devotion all these years, even from afar. "I do. But I think she's just as obsessed with him as he is with me."

He nodded. "That's been the word around the bureau on occasion…"

She scoffed. "Really?"

He raised his eyebrows, searching for some tact. "She does things her way, everyone knows that. But she ended up on the white collar beat because she goes too far. Director's attempt to leash her," Tobin shrugged, tapping his finger against his water glass, "but then _you_ get in trouble and all that goes out the window."

Michonne felt slightly guilty.

"She cares too much about me. That's maybe her biggest weakness when it comes to Negan." She drank, feeling herself succumbing to the beginnings of something like despair. "How can that help her against a man with allies in dark corners even the FBI can't reach?"

"Honestly?" Tobin met her eyes and told her the whole truth. "It can't. Best we can do is keep you safe. Lay low until we find something."

Michonne let his words sink in, and she felt the walls closing in on her. This was bullshit. She couldn't just sit here and let herself fall into Negan's elaborate trap, whatever the hell it was. _What was he planning? Who was in on it?_ She would figure it out for her fucking self. She couldn't do that from here, trapped in her house like a mouse in a maze.

They stared at each other for a long while, and she saw his eyes glint with something like understanding. Maybe even affection. Maybe, just maybe, he would let her go. Maybe he would let Rick take her away and tell Carol there was nothing he could do to stop them.

The phone in the inner pocket of his suit jacket started pinging. Tobin stood up abruptly, breaking eye contact. Michonne watched, the hairs on her arms rising, as he made it to the back of her couch in three long-legged strides and took out his phone. He studied it for a moment. Then he unholstered his gun.

"What is it?"

"A disturbance, outside. Could be nothing..." His demeanor belied his statement, changing to total severity before her eyes. Tobin took the safety off and sent a glance her way before striding toward the back door. "Lock up behind me. Stay inside and away from the windows," he instructed grimly.

Michonne hurried out into the hall, watching him pause at the back balcony doors, peering through the blinds. She couldn't see anything over his broad back. Cautiously, Tobin slid open the door and stepped out into the eerily quiet night.

Michonne stood there for a few moments, watching as the almost glowing white of his shirt moved further away from her, into the inky darkness. She went after him, sliding the door closed again and locking it.

Hurriedly, Michonne set her alarm and retrieved her own gun from the safe in her closet upstairs.

She sat on the foot of the stairs, and waited. The low music served as her only company as the minutes passed and there was still no sign of Tobin.

Her phone rang, startling her.

Michonne got up, went into the kitchen, and picked it up from the island surface. It was Tobin. He'd given her his number. She stared at the caller I.D. screen for a beat, but eventually she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hey…" he was breathing slightly too hard, but he sounded calm, "you know a guy called Shane Walsh?"

Michonne was taken aback. Shane... _Shane_...Rick's friend? From King County? "Uh...yeah, well not me personally. He's a friend of Rick's. Why?"

"He triggered the alarm. Says Rick sent him."

Michonne held her gun at her side, turning to walk slowly back into the foyer as she listened to Tobin's labored breathing yet very calm voice. "He's here?"

"Yeah. He's clean; unarmed." Michonne paused in front of her house alarm, listening. Rick sent his friend all the way from King County? Why get someone else involved with this? Tobin continued, "Look, I need to check the cameras and trip alarms. Just to be sure. But he'll be at your door in a second. I'll be back as soon as I'm done...okay?"

"Okay…"

Tobin hung up. Michonne looked down at her phone for a long pause, the music playing low in the background, a soundtrack to her restless thoughts. This was odd. Did this mean Rick wouldn't be back tonight, or even tomorrow? Disappointment welled inside her. Also, frustration. Being babysat by a bunch of strange men was not her idea of a good time. She didn't want to leave without Rick, but she would if this went on any longer. Maybe tomorrow, early in the morning, while everyone was asleep…

Gripping her gun, Michonne disarmed the house again. Almost the second she did, there was a knock on her front door.

Michonne put her finger near the trigger and walked slowly to the front door. She looked through the peephole. A man was standing there, wearing a black baseball cap.

Under the warm yellow porch light, it looked like it once held patchwork that read 'POLICE'. He was handsome, tall, broad in the shoulders and chest, muscular arms, fit build. Shaved head under the cap, never a good sign for a white man in the South.

Michonne wasn't ready to let her guard down. She warily unlocked and opened the door just enough to reveal her body.

The man opened his mouth to speak and was met with a raised gun. "Evenin', Mi- _whooaa._ " He chuckled, raising his arms slowly. "Alright, I don't blame ya for that. Damn, Rick told me you were somethin' else. I guess I shoulda known you'd be packin."

He had a thick accent, even looser and more pronounced than Rick's. She could hear the same sort of upbringing in his drawl.

"I'm unarmed, ma'am." He gave her a charming smile and stood his ground.

"How tall is Rick? What's he look like?" Michonne didn't soften.

His dark eyes glinted under her porch light as he tilted his head to get a better look at her.

"He's about my height. His beard's goin' grayer every damn year. Handsome fucker; dimple in his chin, bright blue eyes. Dresses like he oughta be a rodeo star, minus one o'those big ass belt buckles. Carries a Colt Python."

She blinked at him, sizing him up. "You got any photos or…?"

The man, Shane, nodded and slowly reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his cell, shifting somewhat nonchalantly on his feet as he scrolled through his photo album. He stopped and showed it to her. It was a picture of himself, Rick, and a young boy with the exact same blue eyes as Rick's. Carl. They were fishing together. Rick looked...very happy. Shane reached over and scrolled to the left. Himself and Rick, in their King County deputy's uniforms leaning on their cruiser, looking equally happy.

He lowered his phone and put it back into his pocket. Michonne didn't move her gun just yet. "Where is Tobin?"

Shane moved closer this time, forcing her to step back. He leaned in and spoke in a low, but still charming, voice. "Well, there's an unmarked van parked a little ways down that hill, in the driveway of one of those empty houses. He headed off toward it."

After a moment in which Michonne looked into his eyes and saw nothing but patience (and a bit of amusement), she finally opened the door and stepped aside.

* * *

" _This is Rick Grimes. Leave a message."_

Michonne frowned, hanging up the call.

"Yeah, I haven't been able to get through either," Shane spoke, drawing her eyes toward his tall, imposing form. "When we met this mornin' he seemed kinda agitated. He's in deep. He was talkin' about gettin' this done, hell or high water, and with Rick that means...well it ain't good. I came here lookin' for 'im."

"So he _didn't_ send you?"

Shane scratched his chin, much the way Rick did sometimes. "No ma'am, that was a bit of a fib on my part. Tobin's a big guy. Had his gun in my face. Figured it was better 'an explainin' that I'm worried about my best friend."

He was looking around in her living room, staring at the wall of photos and notes. He only turned to offer her a mollifying glance before returning to examine the old case file contents again. Michonne watched him warily some more, tucking her gun under her arm as she crossed them. "Why are you worried?"

Shane finally closed the distance, entering the kitchen where she'd been standing as far away from him as possible. "Well, you're his neighbor, or maybe his girlfriend, the way he talks about you…" The gleam in his eyes was sly, appraising. She remembered the impression she'd gotten of him from hearing Rick talk about him. "You tell me. He's obsessed with that old case, isn't he?"

Michonne frowned, glancing over at her wall. "He just wants to find these guys. Rescue a missing girl, or several. What's wrong with that?"

Shane took off his jacket and draped it over one of her stools. She saw that he had a large, black tattoo on his right arm - THE BEAST. It seemed to suit him. He was a bit rough around the edges, despite his politeness. He ran a hand across his shaved head before replacing his cap. "All due respect, you don't know 'im like I do. Or used to. You didn't see 'im before he left King County, ma'am."

"Michonne."

Shane paused. Eyed her intensely. A slight smile played at his wildcat lips. "Michonne…" Energy began to fill the space between them that she couldn't identify. It almost gave her chills. "That's a pretty name, like you. I can see why he's so damn smitten with you."

"Thanks." This guy was a flirt, alright. She had him pegged before without even having to meet him. And she quickly changed the subject. "So...Rick talks about me? What did he tell you?"

"Not much. Just that you're his neighbor, gorgeous, and strong. And maybe in a little bit of serious trouble. Had to pry it outta him. But I got the impression _he's_ pretty damn serious about _you_."

"Well, thanks for the scoop. He's a quiet guy. Intense...but quiet."

"Yeah, that's Rick alright. He's not much of a talker." She watched him examine the laptop Tobin had been working on, let his gaze travel around her kitchen before they returned to her. "Did you talk to him today by any chance?"

"Yeah. About the case. I've been helping him." Michonne leaned against the counter across from him.

A grunt of a chuckle. "Yeah...I can see that. What y'all talk about exactly?"

She wished Tobin would hurry up. The record had stopped. It was too quiet in here with this stranger; Rick's friend, who was nothing like Rick. Polite on the surface, but there was something rough underneath that she didn't fancy much.

"Some guy called Antonin Novak. He amputated feet, apparently. And what I think really happened to that one girl, Naomi…"

"Cross." Shane's gaze was fixed on hers, now. "What do you think happened?"

"Well I'm a nurse, and something about how she died was bothering me. I think she was given a lethal overdose of sistal. I told Rick."

"Damn. You're smart. Unlike us yokels, huh?"

"I didn't say that…"

"Nah, it's alright. We were way in over our heads on that case. I was there that night. It wasn't pretty. Rick was beside himself for that one." He shook his head somewhat forlornly. "So that's where you left it? He didn't give you any clue where he was? What he was doin'?"

"Not really, no. You want some coffee or tea or something?" She set her gun atop the microwave and opened her cabinet, trying to escape the electricity in the air between them. This felt much different than what she had with Rick. There was no reason for it; but it was there. It was bothering her.

"Sure, that'd be nice."

Michonne smiled back at him as he leaned forward over the kitchen island, watching her. She started to make coffee. "You like it as strong as Rick does?"

"Oh yeah. Make mine extra dark." She got the feeling he was checking her out, but she kept on, and then he was talking. "Soon as he left the diner this mornin'...I got this feelin'..."

"What feeling?" Michonne concentrated on her scoops.

"That he wouldn't stop until he found these guys. Killed 'em."

She paused. "You think he's going to…?"

"When Rick puts his mind to somethin', nothin' stops him. That can get him in trouble. He eats it, sleeps with it, breathes it. It consumes him...like you."

She heard his footsteps as he crossed to her kitchen window, nearer to her. She pulled down two mugs, listening out for Tobin at the door. What the hell was taking him so long?

"What about me?"

"Did you know he was watchin' you?" He was closer. Too close. "From that window up there. Your house ain't well curtained off. You can see right through the kitchen. And your bedroom, too. You oughta do somethin' about that."

Michonne finally turned to look up at him. His eyes had changed. Her gun was behind her on the microwave. She swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?"

How would he know that? Would Rick tell him that? _Maybe. You feel deeply for him, but how well do you really know him, Michonne?_ Shit. This was wrong. All wrong.

"The grooves in the floor up there at that window," Shane's voice had gone low, deep. His eyes had turned black, bottomless. "How many nights, you think? How many nights did he stand there, watchin' you? I gotta admit, I'm impressed. Rick's always been a bit of a boy scout. But for you...well, like I said, our boy's in deep. Too deep. I'm here to fix that."

The electricity she felt earlier was now a snapping, biting current. He was dangerous.

The coffee was brewing. There was silence between them except for that and the sound of Michonne's blood rushing past her thumping heart to her ears. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothin' special, Michonne." He smiled slowly. "Just to kill Rick when he comes to kill me for what I did to Carl and Lori. Rosita. Katie. Naomi."

A split second and it dawned on her. King County Sheriff's Department. The cruiser. The uniform. The coverup. Of course Rick wouldn't see it. It was his best friend. A man he grew up with; took fishing with his son. _Oh, God…!_

Michonne twirled around to grab her gun, but he was too close. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her backward into him. A second later his hand was clamped over her mouth, suppressing her scream, and something sharp and painful was being inserting into her arm.

Michonne threw her head back, knocking the base of her skull into his chin and nose. He staggered back, his hat flying off at the force of her blow. Before she could reach her gun, she felt him yank her backward again, swinging her into the kitchen island, using it to knock the wind clean out of her stomach.

Michonne dropped like a sack of flour, gasping for air as Shane shook off her attack, blood running from his nose. He tossed the needle he'd just used to inject _something_ into her into the sink, grabbed her gun, emptied the clip, and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

Unbothered, he watched her stumble to her feet. She grabbed a butcher knife from the holder next to the stove and turned to face him, trying to steady herself. Ready herself. He grunted with unsettling amusement, titling his shaved head at her. His voice was so deep and menacing he hardly seemed like the same person who rang her doorbell all of five minutes ago.

That tattoo on his arm never seemed more appropriate. He wasn't the Shane Walsh in those pictures.

He was The Beast.

"What are you gonna do, honey? You gonna cut me?" Michonne glared at him, her eyes darting from his dark face to the door. Could she make it? " _DO IT!_ "

Michonne startled at his booming demand, slashing at him with a fierce cry. She caught him across the peck, and he growled as blood immediately began to seep through his clothes. She lunged again. Landed a swift kick to his chin. He stumbled back against the fridge but didn't go down. She attacked again and they struggled for power, pushing each other back and forth. "That's right, come on, baby! Yeah, _there's_ that fire! Show The Beast how tough you are! _Oww!_ "

She landed as many blows as she could with as many limbs as she could, but he was big and strong and crazy. They wrestled all over the place, knocking the piping hot coffee over, nearly scalding themselves, crashing into her skillet rack, knocking over one of the stools near the island. Michonne lunged with the knife again, hoping to slash a major artery, but he caught her wrist again and threw her bodily into the fridge, pinning her there.

Michonne was forced to drop the knife, but she managed to knee him in the balls and elbow him in the back, releasing her from his iron grip. She shoved him to the ground and bolted for the door.

Before she cleared the length of the foyer, however, her legs gave out.

Horrendously surprised, Michonne dropped to the floor again. Her body singing with pain, she clawed against the slippery hardwood as the muscles in her legs began to seize and lock in place.

 _No, no, no, what the fuck did he give me!?_

Her mind in panic mode, she couldn't think straight. She just kept trying to make it to her front door. She heard him get unsteadily to his feet as she tried dragging herself the two or three feet between her and the outside world.

 _Tobin! Tobin, where is Tobin?_

The more she tried to move, the less her body cooperated. First her legs, then her back, then, finally, her arms. Michonne slowed to a pitiful crawl until she had no choice but to lay there, paralyzed, unable to move or speak, inches from escape.

She heard The Beast's slow, confident footsteps approaching her. Anger and terror wracked her from head to toe as he made it to her, knelt, and brushed a loc of her hair away from her paralyzed face.

The Beast sighed, as if disappointed. "Pancuronium bromide…" he whispered into her ear with a menacing leer. He kept stroking her hair and face, gently, repulsively. He was bleeding. "I know you're a nurse and all, but I'm not sure if you could tell what's got you so docile and stone still like this."

He chuckled, reaching under her to flip her over and scoop her up into his arms. Michonne was screaming inside her head, but in reality she could do little more than glare at him.

"They use it in lethal injections. It's step one of that infamous three step process, you see, sweetheart."

The Beast carried her into the living room and lay her down on the couch. He sat down on the coffee table across from her, wincing with pain from their fight.

"Whoo! You got me good, Michonne. Rick would be proud." She glared. He grinned. "Anyway, don't worry. I'm not here to execute ya. I'm here for Rick."

Hercules came mewling at his feet. She watched in mute horror as he picked up her cat and began to scratch and rub behind his ears. Hercules began to pur.

"He's on his way here. You might be startin' to unthaw by the time he gets here, but it won't much matter." He let her cat go and tilted his head at her, that emotionless grin chilling her to the bone. "I'm gonna kill him. While you watch. And then I'm gonna take you someplace special. So you just sit tight, alright?"

He stood up, leaned over, and kissed her her lips. Michonne was furious. Unable to move an inch.

"Mmm. The Master's gonna love you…"

Then he was gone; she heard his footsteps walking around the couch, back into the kitchen. He was rummaging around in her cabinets until he found something. Probably the first aid kit.

Michonne could only lay there, listening. Knowing that Tobin was probably dead. And Rick, wherever he was, was about to walk into a deadly trap.

* * *

 **I hope you're ready. Rick is coming. Next up, everything's from his POV. Bonus: a little unexpected assistance from The Bullet Man.**

 **I'm trying to hurry, but I have two jobs now and a script to write.**

 **LOL hence the 6am update. But I won't leave you hanging, updates are still on their way, I promise. Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


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